BECAUSE 

OF 

CONSCIENCE 


A  NOVEL 


AMYE.BLANCHARD 


UBRAtf r 

of  California^ 

IRViNE  ^ 


BECAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE 


BY  AMY  E.  BLANCHARD 

AN  INDEPENDENT  DAUGHTER 
THREE  PRETTY  MAIDS 
MISS  VANITY 
HER  VERY  BEST 

ismo.     Cloth,  illustrated,  $1.25 
per  volume 

TWO  GIRLS 
GIRLS  TOGETHER 
BETTY  OF  WYE 

I2mo.     Cloth,  illustrated,  $1.00 
per  volume 

TWENTY  LITTLE  MAIDENS 
Illustrated  by  IDA  WAUGH 
Small  4to.    $1.23 


Because  you  have  shown  me  how  powerful  a  shield  a 
woman  can  be,  I  stand  here" 

Page  104 


J3ecause  of  (Conscience 

Being  a  NOVEL  relating  to  the  ADVENTURES 
of  certain  HUGUENOTS  in  OLD  NEW  YORK 


By 

Amy  E.  Blanchard 

Author  of  "  Her  Very  #est,"  "  Betty  of  Wye," 

"Two  Girls,''  "Girls  Together," 

"Three  Pretty  Maids," 

etc. 

With  Frontispiece  by 

E.  Benson   Kennedy 


Philadelphia     &     London 

J.    B.    Lippincott     Company 

1901 


PS 


Copyright,  iqor 
By  J,  B,  Lippincott  Company 


Electrotyped  and  Printed  by 
J.  £.  Lippincott  Company,  Philadelphia,  U.  S.  A. 


DEDICATED 

WITH   DEEP  AFFECTION   AND    PROFOUND   ADMIRATION 
TO 

ELIZA  ELVIRA  KENYON 

WHOSE   LOVING   INTEREST   AND   LOFTY   EXAMPLE 

HAVE   BEEN    MY   STAY   FOR 

MANY   YEARS 

A.  E.  B. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  A  WILD  MARIGOLD           .          .          .          .          .11 

II.  THE  FEAST  OF  THE  FAT  CALF  ....        34 

III.  THE  WAY  TO  CHURCH 48 

IV.  THE  CIDER  FROLIC  ......        64 

V.  FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER     .          .          .81 

VI.  FOR  LIFE  OR  DEATH        .          .          .          .          .98 

VII.  WHITHER  THOU  GOEST     .          .          .          .          .114 

VIII.  PLOT  AND  COUNTER-PLOT           ....      131 

IX.  THREE  PARTINGS      ......      151 

X.  0.\  SHIPBOARD  .  .  .  .  .  .165 

XI.  FROM  SHIP  TO  SHORE  .  .  .  .  .177 

XII.  GENERAL  JACQUES  ......  195 

XIII.  A  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  WOODS    ....     215 

XIV.  PIERRE,  THE  ENGAGE 229 

XV.  MADAM,  MY  MOTHER         .....     247 

XVI.  ONE  NIGHT  IN  MAY 265 

XVII.  FORGIVENESS 282 

XVIII.  PAPA  Louis  TELLS  A  STORY  ....  300 

XIX.  THE  MARK  OF  THE  RED  FEATHER  .  .  .316 

XX.  MATHILDE'S  TABLEAUX  .....  336 


BECAUSE  OF  CONSCIENCE 


CHAPTER    I 

A    WILD    MARIGOLD 

NOTHING  in  the  world  smelled  so  sweet  as  fresh 
sun-dried  linen,  thought  Alaine  as  she  watched 
Michelle  heaping  the  white  pile  upon  her  strong 
arms  ;  unless,  indeed,  Alaine  reflected  a  moment 
later,  it  be  a  loaf  baking  in  the  oven,  yet  even  that 
did  not  suggest  odorous  grass  and  winds  laden  with 
the  fragrance  of  hedge  and  wood.  She  lay  in  the 
long  grass,  chin  in  hands,  her  brown  eyes  wander 
ing  over  the  low-growing  objects  which  her  position 
brought  easily  within  her  vision.  "  Now  I  know 
what  it  is  to  be  a  creature  like  Fifi  ;  no  wonder  he 
is  forever  running  after  the  impossible,  as  it  seems 
to  me,  for  I,  gigantically  lifted  above  him,  cannot 
see  the  objects  on  a  level  with  his  sharp  eyes." 
She  watched  her  dog  darting  among  the  stubble  at 
the  edge  of  the  field,  and  as  she  idly  viewed  his 
gambols  her  eyes  caught  sight  of  a  yellow  flower 
growing  near  the  hedge.  She  lifted  her  little  head 
with  its  toss  of  brown  hair,  then  drew  her  slender, 

11 


12  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

lithe  body  from  its  covert  to  stand  erect  and  to  walk 
slowly  across  the  open  space  to  gather  the  wild 
marigold,  at  which  she  gazed  thoughtfully,  standing 
so  still  that  her  shadow  scarcely  wavered. 

The  sudden  sharp  bark  of  her  little  dog  roused 
her,  and  she  turned  her  head  to  see  some  one  coming 
toward  her, — a  young  man  swinging  along  with  an 
easy,  confident  tread. 

"Good-evening,  my  cousin,"  he  cried.  "You 
were  so  deep  in  thought  that  I  fancied  I  should 
not  move  you  till  I  came  near  enough  to  touch 
you.  What  are  you  studying  so  intently  ?" 

"This."  Alaine  held  out  her  yellow  blossom. 
"  Tell  me,  fitienne,  does  it  turn  always  to  the  sun, 
this  yellow  marigold  ?" 

"Who  told  you  so?1' 

"  Michelle,  and  she  says  it  was  chosen  as  her  de 
vice  by  Margaret  of  Valois  because  it  does  truly  resem 
ble  the  sun.  It  is  likewise  the  emblem  of  the  Protes 
tants,  who  say  that  it  signifies  that  they  ever  turn  to 
the  true  source  of  light, — God  in  his  heaven.  Was 
Margaret  of  Valois  Protestant,  fitienne,  and " 

"Is  Michelle,  then,  Protestant?"  fitienne  inter 
rupted  her  by  asking. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  I  know  so.  She  has  a  little 
Bible,  fitienne,  which  she  guards  sacredly,  and  she 
makes  long  journeys  at  night  to  secret  meetings,  I 
fancy.  She  is  very  good  and  devout,  fitienne,  but 
still " 

"Still  you  can  cry,   'Abas  les  Huguenots  I1  is  it 


A  WILD   MARIGOLD  13 

not  so?  She  would  make  you  Protestant,  my 
cousin,  would  she  not?" 

Alaine  looked  up  at  him  gravely  from  under  her 
long  lashes.  She  wondered  how  much  she  dared 
tell  to  this  cousin  to  whose  opinions  she  had  deferred 
ever  since  she  could  remember. 

"  Would  she  not?"  he  repeated,  smiling  as  he  took 
the  flower,  with  rather  too  rough  a  hand,  Alaine 
thought.  "  Can  you  say  with  true  spirit,  '  A  has 
les  Huguenots'  ?"  He  spoke  the  words  so  fiercely 
that  Alaine  looked  half  alarmed,  at  which  he  laughed. 
" There,  my  cousin,"  he  continued,  "you  are  too 
young  to  be  troubled  by  these  questions,  and  your 
father  is  too  good  a  Catholic  to  let  you  stray  from 
the  fold." 

"  But  I  do  not  wish  to  be  done  with  questions.  I 
wish  to  know  about  everything,  and  I  mean  to  ask 
my  father  this  very  night  when  he  returns  from 
Paris.  He  will  tell  me,  if  you  will  not.  I  know  he 
will.  You  are  very  provoking,  fitienne,  to  treat  my 
questions  so,"  she  pouted.  u  Give  me  my  flower ;  I 
want  to  wear  it." 

"  What  if  I  want  to  wear  it?11 

"Ah,  I^tienne,  are  you,  then,  a  Huguenot?" 

"That  is  nothing  to  you,"  he  returned.  "I  am 
simply  your  cousin,  fitienne  Villeneau.  Better  trust 
me,  Alainette  ;  I  know  more  than  Michelle  there  ;  in 
fact,  it  is  an  amusement  of  mine  to  follow  up  all 
sources  of  information  that  wrill  in  any  way  benefit 
the  house  of  Villeneau,  and  I  will  pass  over  to  you 


14  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

anything  in  the  matter  of  news  which  may  be  good 
for  you." 

"  Which  may  be  good  for  me  !  As  if  news  were 
like  doses  of  medicine.  I  will  take  your  news  or 
not,  as  I  like." 

"You  will  take  it  whether  you  like  it  or  not," 
he  returned,  looking  at  her  for  a  moment  with 
narrowed  eyes.  "If  your  father  does  not  return 
from  Paris  you  will  be  glad  enough  to  run  to  me  for 
knowledge  of  him." 

"  fitienne,  how  can  you  ?  My  father  will  return 
from  Paris ;  he  said  he  would,  and  he  speaks  truly 
at  all  times." 

"  Too  truly  for  once,  it  is  reported.  Au  revoir, 
my  cousin  ;  when  you  are  ready  to  hear  what  I  have 
to  tell  send  me  word."  And  he  turned  on  his  heel. 

"You  are  hateful!  a  beast,  a  monster!"  Alaine 
cried  after  him.  "  I  hate  you." 

"I  have  heard  that  before,"  the  young  man  re 
plied  over  his  shoulder,  "  and  the  next  day  you  have 
told  me  the  opposite." 

"  It  will  not  be  the  next  day  this  time,  nor  for 
many  days  that  you  hear  it,"  Alaine  retorted.  "  And 
you  have  not  given  me  back  my  flower.  Thief! 
Robber !" 

He  tossed  the  flower  on  the  ground,  then,  as  if 
urged  by  an  angry  impulse,  he  stopped  and  ground 
it  with  his  heel,  but  immediately  after  he  turned, 
laughing:  "That  for  your  naughtiness,  fierce  little 
cousin.  Adieu." 


A  WILD   MARIGOLD  15 

"  Go  !"  she  cried.  u  I  am  glad  to  see  your  wicked 
body  disappear."  Then,  half  in  tears,  she  ran  to 
Michelle,  who  had  returned  from  bearing  her  burden 
into  the  house  and  was  now  picking  up  the  remain 
ing  articles  left  on  the  grass  to  bleach.  "  Michelle ! 
Michelle  !"  cried  the  girl,  "  that  detestable  cousin  of 
mine  has  been  teasing  me,  and  has  crushed  the  life 
out  of  the  little  yellow  marigold  I  meant  for  you. 
Is  he  not  a  beast,  Michelle  ?  and  how  dares  he  say 
that  there  is  any  doubt  of  my  father's  return  ?" 

"He  says  that?"  exclaimed  Michelle,  looking 
startled. 

"He  did  not  say  just  that,  but  only  if  my  father 
should  not  return  that  I  would  be  glad  to  run  to  him 
for  news  of  him.  He  will  return ;  say  so  at  once, 
Michelle.1'  She  shook  the  good  woman's  arm  im 
patiently. 

"God  grant  he  returns,"  murmured  Michelle, 
gravely.  "And  your  cousin,  what  further  did  he 
say?" 

"  Very  little,  except  to  ask  if  you  were  trying  to 
make  me  Protestant.  You  would  like  to  have  me 
one,  you  know,  Michelle,  but  my  tender  flesh  shrinks 
from  the  horrors  of  which  you  tell  me,  and  that 
have  been  going  on  since  before  I  was  born.  I  have 
no  wish  to  be  dragged  through  the  streets,  to  be 
beaten  or  burned  or  foully  abused  in  any  way,  and 
I  do  not  see  how  you  can  be  happy  with  such  a 
possibility  hanging  over  you,  Michelle." 

"  Listen  to  the  poor  little  one,"  said  Michelle  to 


16  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

herself.  u  She  little  knows  of  the  real  terrors  that 
threaten  us.  And  your  cousin  fitienne,  did  you  tell 
him  I  was  Protestant  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  did,  but  no  doubt  he  knew  it  before ; 
and  what  matters  it  anyhow  to  one  of  the  family  to 
whom  you  have  always  been  so  good?  Many  a 
scrape  have  you  helped  my  cousin  out  of.  He 
would  defend  you  to  the  last,  and  so  would  I,  Mi 
chelle,  Catholic  as  I  am.1' 

Michelle  made  no  answer.  She  stood  still  with 
her  arms  clasped  around  the  web  of  homespun  linen 
which  had  been  bleaching  on  the  grass.  Her  eyes 
wandered  over  the  fair  fields  to  the  spires  of  Rouen 
in  the  distance,  and  then  to  the  chateau  closer  at 
hand,  showing  dimly  gray  through  the  trees.  She 
shook  her  head,  but  turned  with  a  smile  to  the  girl 
at  her  side.  "Come  in,  my  Alainette,'1  she  said; 
"  it  grows  late  and  I  have  a  loaf  in  the  oven.  There 
is  no  need  to  be  angered  by  the  words  of  your 
cousin,  he  did  but  tease  ;  and  should  your  father  not 
return  to-night,  there  is  no  doubt  some  good  reason 
for  his  staying."  And  Alaine,  accustomed  as  she 
had  been  from  babyhood  to  accept  Michelle's  adjust 
ments  of  her  difficulties,  forgot  her  late  quarrel  with 
her  cousin  and  ran  on  ahead  to  satisfy  her  youthful 
appetite  with  the  fresh  sweet  loaf  that  no  one  knew 
better  than  Michelle  how  to  bake. 

The  days  were  over  when  the  Huguenots  were  an 
influence,  or  were  at  all  formidable  in  politics.  They 
pursued  amiably  and  tranquilly  their  various  avoca- 


A  WILD    MARIGOLD  17 

lions.  The  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  had  oc 
curred  over  a  century  before  ;  La  Rochelle  had  fallen 
more  than  half  a  century  back,  and  Protestant  sub 
jects  were  so  faithful  in  their  allegiance  to  the  throne 
that  even  the  reigning  sovereign,  Louis  XIV.,  acknowl 
edged  that  his  Huguenot  servitors  had  proved  their 
devotion  ;  he  had,  moreover,  promised  that  the  pro 
visions  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes  should  be  faithfully 
maintained,  yet  at  this  very  time  a  decree  was  issued 
fixing  the  age  of  seven  as  that  when  children  were 
to  be  allowed  to  declare  their  religious  preferences, 
and  forbidding  parents  to  send  their  children  out 
of  the  country  to  be  educated.  In  consequence, 
it  was  a  common  thing  for  children  to  be  enticed 
from  their  parents  to  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  the 
clergy,  or  to  be  persuaded  by  rewards  or  coerced  by 
threats  to  attend  mass,  and  then  to  be  claimed  by 
the  Church.  One  by  one  the  Protestant  seats  of 
learning  were  suppressed,  and  the  consternation  of 
the  Huguenots  was  great. 

Beyond  this  the  system  of  dragonnades  had  done 
much  toward  terrorizing  and  impoverishing  the 
Protestants,  so  that  again  numbers  were  fleeing  the 
country  through  every  possible  means.  The  times 
were  ripe  for  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes. 

Of  all  these  things  Alaine  Hervieu  was  passingly 
aware.  The  horizon  of  her  little  world  was  bounded 
by  Rouen,  beyond  whose  borders  she  dwelt,  spend 
ing  a  quiet  and  joyous  existence  with  Michelle,  her 
foster-mother  and  her  chief  guardian  :  Michelle  with 


18  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

her  fund  of  reminiscences,  too  often  those  thrilling 
and  horrifying  tales  of  massacres  and  persecutions. 
When  Michelle  waxed  too  fierce  and  terrifying  Alaine 
would  fly  to  her  father  for  diversion,  but,  to  her 
credit  be  it  said,  she  never  laid  the  cause  of  her 
frights  upon  her  nurse,  but  rather  complained  of 
loneliness  and  begged  that  dear  papa  would  tell  her 
tales  of  his  boyhood ;  of  her  sainted  mother  she 
was  quite  ready  to  hear,  but  of  other  saints  she 
heard  more  than  enough  from  Father  Bisset,  she 
declared.  Something  rousing  and  merry  she  pre 
ferred  ;  and  her  father,  taking  her  on  his  knee,  would 
tell  her  of  the  Fete  des  Rois,  and  would  show  her 
the  basket  of  wax  fruit  won  upon  one  of  those  fes 
tive  occasions.  Or  he  would  sing  her  some  old  song, 

such  as 

' '  Gloria  patri  ma  mere  a  petri 

Elle  a  faict  une  gallette, 
Houppegay,  Houppegay,  j'ay  bu  du  cidre  Alotel." 

And  he  would  tell  her  of  the  time  when  the  Boise 
of  St.  Nicaise  was  dragged  away  and  burned  by  the 
young  men  of  St.  Godard. 

Alaine  herself  had  more  than  once  been  taken  to 
the  Fete  St.  Anne  to  see,  running  about  the  streets, 
the  boys  dressed  as  angels  and  the  girls  as  Virgins, 
and  at  Easter  Eve  she  had  watched  the  children 
when  they  mocked  and  hooted  at  the  now  scorned 
herring  while  the  boys  pitched  barrels  and  fish- 
barrows  into  the  river. 

But  of  late  it  was  of  other  things  he  told  her ;  of 


A  WILD    MARIGOLD  19 

brave  resistance  by  those  who  fought  for  freedom  of 
thought ;  of  the  loss  of  position  by  those  who  re 
fused  to  conform  to  the  requirements  of  state  and 
church  ;  and  sometimes  he  would  sing  to  her  in  a 
low  voice,  from  a  small  book,  some  of  those  psalms 
which  Michelle,  too,  sang. 

Alaine  once  showed  the  little  old  book  with  its 
silver  clasps  to  her  cousin  Etienne.  "  I  remember 
it  well,"  he  told  her;  "it  belonged  to  our  great 
grandfather,  for  in  his  day  the  Psalms  of  David  were 
held  in  great  esteem  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
the  court,  and  once  on  a  time  in  the  heart  of  Paris, 
on  the  favorite  promenade,  five  or  six  thousand,  in 
cluding  the  king  and  queen  of  Navarre,  joined  in 
singing  psalms.1' 

"  It  must  have  been  fine.  I  wish  I  had  been 
there,"  Alaine  exclaimed,  clapping  her  hands.  "Go 
on,  Etienne,  what  more  about  the  book  ?" 

"  It  is  a  seditious  thing  now,"  he  returned,  turning 
to  the  copy  of  the  Hervieu  coat  of  arms  on  the  in 
side  cover.  "  If  we  were  as  zealous  as  we  should  be 
we  would  burn  it,  for  if  it  were  discovered  here 
trouble  might  come  of  it.  Let  us  make  a  fire  of  the 
heretical  thing,  Alaine." 

"No,  no."  Alaine  clasped  it  to  her  breast.  "I 
like  it,  Etienne.  It  is  a  family  relic.  I  will  keep  it 
safely  hidden,  and  no  one  shall  know  of  it." 

She  did  keep  it  safely  hidden,  and  her  father  never 
once  asked  for  it,  because  another  book  had  taken 
its  place ;  one  over  which  he  pored  for  hours  at  a 


20  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

time,  and  which  Alaine  knew  to  he  a  Bible.  Was 
her  father  turning  Protestant  ?  she  asked  herself. 

Within  the  last  few  months  it  was  Alaine  who 
tried  to  divert  her  father,  for  often  there  was  a  cloud 
upon  his  brow,  and  he  was  frequently  grave  and 
taciturn,  so  that  his  daughter  tried  to  set  him  laugh 
ing  when  she  could,  and  when  she  could  not  would 
take  refuge  with  her  cousin  Etienne,  who  lived  but 
a  short  distance  away.  He  was  her  elder  by  ten 
years,  but  a  good  companion  for  all  that,  with  whom 
Alaine  quarrelled  once  a  day  upon  an  average,  and 
upon  whom  she  penitently  used  her  blandishments 
when  next  they  met. 

She,  therefore,  was  quite  ready  for  Etienne  when 
he  appeared  upon  the  terrace  the  next  morning  after 
her  latest  quarrel  with  him.  "  Papa  did  not  come, 
Etienne,"  she  cried,  jumping  up  to  meet  him,  "  but 
Michelle  says  it  is  nothing ;  men  are  often  detained 
so.  Come,  sit  here  and  tell  me  what  you  have  done, 
and  how  is  my  aunt ;  also,  if  you  have  that  piece  of 
news  you  offered  me  yesterday." 

"  Am  I  a  thief  and  robber,  then  ?  A  monster  and 
a  beast?1'  he  asked,  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"No,  you  are  not;  it  was  yesterday  you  were 
those  things,  and  this  is  to-day.'1 

"Child!"  he  exclaimed,  "but  a  woman-child  for 
all.  Alainette,  would  you  turn  Protestant  if  your 
father  were  one?" 

"  There,  now,  you  said  we  were  done  with  that 
question." 


A  WILD   MARIGOLD  21 

"  It  was  you  who  urged  it  upon  me,  and  who  be 
came  angry  with  me  because  I  put  you  off." 

"  Again  that  was  yesterday,  and  this  is  to-day,  as 
I  told  you." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  put  the  question  again." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  What  would  you  do  if  you 
were  I,  Etienne?" 

"  I  should  do  as  my  conscience  and  my  Church 
bade  me,  rather  than  obey  my  father."  He  looked 
at  her  again  with  those  narrowed  eyes,  the  expres 
sion  of  which  Alaine  was  beginning  to  dread. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  advice,  sir.  My  father  is 
not  likely  to  command  me  to  do  anything  wrong ; 
and  even  if  he  did " 

"  Even  if  he  did,1'  repeated  her  cousin,  "  you 
would  be  taken  to  a  convent  and  be  separated  from 
him,  as  you  well  know.  There  would  be  one  way 
out  of  it,  Alaine." 

"  And  that?"  She  looked  up  at  him  with  all  the 
confidence  of  her  youth  shining  in  her  piquant  little 
face. 

"  Would  be  to  marry  me,"  he  said,  slowly. 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  girl's  face  and  she  sprang 
to  her  feet.  "  How  dare  you  say  such  a  thing, 
Etienne  ?  It  is  for  your  mother  and  my  father  to 
arrange  a  matter  like  that.  Besides," — she  burst 
into  a  sob, — "  I — I  don't  want  to  be  married.  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  a  convent  either.  Why  do  you  come 
here  troubling  rue  with  such  dreadful  things,  Etienne  ? 
I  hate  you  for  it." 


22  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

He  caught  her  hands  and  looked  down  closely 
into  her  dark  eyes.  "  No  you  don't ;  you  love  me 
for  it." 

"  I  do  not !  I  do  not !"  she  cried,  passionately. 
u  I  detest  you.  Monster,  beast !  Monster,  beast ! 
Hear  me,  I  say  it  again  and  again.  I  hate  you,  hate 
you,  hate  you !"  And  having  wrested  one  hand 
from  his  grasp,  she  gave  him  a  stinging  blow  on  the 
ear. 

He  loosed  his  grasp  of  her  and  pushed  her  from 
him.  "You  shall  pay  me  for  that,"  he  said,  his 
breath  coming  quickly,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

Alaine,  frightened  at  what  she  had  done,  shrank 
from  him.  "  I — I  never  did  so  before,  did  I,  Etienne  ? 
I — I  was  so  surprised,  you  see."  She  made  a  faint 
attempt  to  smile,  but  there  was  no  response  from 
her  cousin.  She  remembered  vaguely  that  she  had 
once  or  twice  before  seen  him  thus  angry,  and  she 
also  remembered  that  her  aunt  had  told  her  that 
Etienne  was  very  vindictive.  "  It  would  not  be 
proper  for  me  to  say  that  I  would  marry  you, 
Etienne,"  she  said,  wistfully.  "You  know  we  must 
not  think  of  such  things ;  Michelle  says  we  must 
not,  and  Mother  Angelique  says  that  it  is  very  wrong. 
It  really  would  not  be  proper  for  me  to  tell  you  that 
I  would  marry  you." 

"You  shall  tell  no  one  else,"  he  said,  fiercely, 
"and  you  will  have  to  do  it  soon  or " 

"Or  what?"  She  crept  closer  to  him  and  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 


23 

He  looked  down  at  her,  the  resentment  in  his  face 
fading  into  something  like  compassion.  "  Listen, 
Alaine  ;  your  father  will  not  come  back  to-day  ;  one 
cannot  say  that  he  ever  will.  He  has  announced 
himself  a  Huguenot,  and  has  disappeared,  we  know 
not  where." 

Alaine  fixed  her  great  eyes  on  him.  Suddenly 
she  dropped  her  childish  coaxing  tone.  "  Are  you 
telling  me  the  truth,  Etienne?  I  am — yes,  I  am 
nearly  a  woman.  A  girl  of  fifteen  has  a  right  to 
decide  for  herself  as  you  say.  Tell  me,  are  you 
merely  teasing  me,  or  is  this  the  truth  ?" 

"It  is  the  truth,  and  at  any  moment  this  place 
may  be  given  over  to  the  dragonnades.  Will  you 
stay  ?  If  you  do  not  come  to  us  your  case  will  be 
pitiable,  indeed.  I  have  not  said  anything  as  yet  to 
my  mother,  for  you  know  her  state  of  health,  but 
you  will  be  safe  with  us,  Alaine." 

"  And  Michelle,  she  must  go  too." 

"  No,  she  must  not.  She  is  Protestant,  and  must 
take  the  risks  with  those  she  has  chosen." 

"  fitienne !  and  after  all  these  years  that  you  have 
known  her,  and  when  she  has  done  you  more  than 
one  good  service." 

"  We  cannot  remember  anything  but  that  she  is 
an  enemy  of  the  Church." 

"  You  have  said  that  if  my  father  commanded  I 
must  not  obey,  therefore  I  will  learn  his  commands,  if 
I  can.  You  would  not  desire  to  marry  a  Huguenot, 
Etienne." 


24  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"That  need  not  disturb  you  just  now;  the  main 
thing  is  your  safety.11 

"And  if  I  refuse  to  leave  Michelle?" 

"You  know  the  consequences." 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  Father  Bisset  will  not 
speak  for  me  ?  Have  I  ever  neglected  my  religious 
duties?  And  the  Mother  Angelique,  will  she  not 
answer  for  me  ?" 

"  Once  you  go  to  them  you  will  find  closer  bonds 
than  those  with  which  I  would  bind  you." 

"But  they  love  me." 

"Because  they  love  you  they  would  keep  you. 
It  has  been  weeks  since  you  saw  Mother  Angelique, 
and  as  for  Father  Bisset,  how  long  since  you  have 
had  a  call  from  him  ?  At  this  moment  he  is  on  his 
way  to  Holland,  unless,  indeed,  he  has  been  over 
taken,  the  poor  miserable  apostate." 

"How  do  you  know?     How  do  you  know?" 

"  I  am  neither  deaf  nor  blind.  I  see  what  is  be 
fore  me  and  I  hear  what  is  told  me." 

"  It  is  the  Revocation  which  is  doing  all  this," 
cried  Alaine.  "Michelle  told  me  so.  Dear  Father 
Bisset !  Would  he  had  told  me  he  was  going  and 
had  given  me  his  blessing  before  he  fled  !  I  hope  he 
will  escape  in  safety.1' 

"I  hope  he  will  not,"  returned  Etienne,  savagely. 

Alaine  turned  and  looked  at  him,  then  paced  up 
and  down  the  walk,  her  hands  folded  against  her 
breast,  her  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground.  Her  brain 
was  in  a  whirl,  but  by  degrees  she  collected  herself 


A  WILD   MARIGOLD  25 

sufficiently  to  say,  "  fitienne,  my  cousin,  I  am  but  a 
young  and  not  overwise  girl,  and  I  cannot  decide 
this  thing  while  you  are  here  to  disconcert  me. 
Leave  me  to-day,  and  do  not  come  near  me  till  I 
have  thought  this  over.  You  have  thrust  a  hard 
alternative  upon  me,  but  I  see  that  I  must  meet  it. 
I  will  believe  that  you  intend  the  best  for  me,  but  I 
must  have  time  to  think.  To-morrow  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  will  do.  It  is  good  of  you  to  allow  me  the 
privilege  of  choosing  my  own  way,  for  I  can  see  that 
it  might  be  otherwise ;  that,  in  the  absence  of  my 
father,  you  and  my  aunt  have  the  right  to  exercise 
a  control,  or  that  you  might  at  once  report  me  to 
the  authorities,  who  would  not  hesitate  to  send  me 
whither  they  would.  I  am  safe  here,  in  my  own 
home,  till  to-morrow  you  think?1' 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  you  are." 

"Then,  leave  me,  please.  Give  my  duty  to  my 
aunt  and  thank  you,  Etienne.'1  She  looked  up  into 
his  face  as  if  searching  for  something  she  did  not 
find.  "  fitienne,  you  forgive  me  for  what  I  did  yes 
terday  ?  I  was  very  rude.  You  do  not  bear  resent 
ment  against  me  for  it  ?" 

The  look  she  dreaded  came  into  his  eyes.  "  Would 
I  wish  to  marry  you  if  I  did?"  he  returned,  but 
without  a  smile. 

She  let  him  go,  not  adding  another  word  ;  and  when 
he  was  beyond  hearing  she  sank  again  upon  the 
bench  where  they  two  had  sat  together.  Marriage 
with  Etienne  ;  she  had  never  thought  of  it,  and  sud- 


26  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

denly  she  realized  that  her  whole  nature  shrank  from 
it  She  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands,  for  a  moment 
sitting  very  still,  then,  with  a  swift  determination, 
she  ran  to  find  her  nurse. 

"Michelle,  Michelle,"  she  cried,  taking  the  good 
woman's  comforting  arms  and  folding  them  around 
herself,  "  I  am  sorely  pressed.  Tell  me  what  to  do. 
My  father,  did  you  know  ?  he  is  Protestant,  fitienne 
has  just  told  me  of  his  admission,  and  that  he  has 
disappeared,  he  could  not  tell  where.  Oh,  Michelle, 
what  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  afraid  of 
Etienne,  I  am  afraid." 

The  mother  look  on  Michelle's  broad  face  deep 
ened  into  one  of  anxiety.  "My  lamb!  My  lamb!" 
she  murmured.  "  An  hour  of  great  distress  is  at 
hand.  Yes,  I  know.  I  have  known  for  some  time, 
but  for  your  sake,  my  pretty  one,  your  father  has 
not  declared  his  convictions  for  fear  you  would  be 
stolen  from  him." 

"And  now!  Ah,  Michelle !"  She  then  told  of 
her  cousin  fitienne's  proposal  and  her  own  distress. 
"Ah,  that  I  knew  my  father's  desires!"  she  cried. 
"  Shall  I  ever  see  him  again  ?  If  I  thought  I  could 
find  him  I  would  hie  me  forth  this  very  night." 

"And  forsake  all  else?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"  You  would  be  willing  to  become  a  refugee  for 
his  sake  ?  You  would  give  up  the  protection  and  com 
fort  you  would  find  in  your  aunt's  home  to  become 
a  wanderer  ?  You  would  give  up  your  Church  ?" 


A  WILD   MARIGOLD  27 

"  Yes,  and  more,  if  it  gave  me  a  chance  to  again 
be  united  to  my  father ;  a  thousand  times  yes.  Those 
whom  I  love  best  upon  earth,  whom  from  childhood 
I  have  been  accustomed  to  obey,  have  become  Prot 
estants,  why  should  an  ignorant  girl  dare  to  say 
they  are  not  right  ?  My  father,  you,  and  Father  Bis- 
set,  have  you  not  all  been  my  teachers  and  guar 
dians  ?  Shall  I  forsake  you  now  ?" 

"My  infant!  My  child  of  the  good  heart!"  cried 
Michelle,  weeping  copiously.  "  I  am  the  one  to  lead 
you  forth  from  your  own  country,  and  I  cannot  hesi 
tate."  She  thrust  her  hand  under  the  kerchief  folded 
across  her  bosom  and  drew  forth  a  paper.  "  Read," 
she  said,  holding  it  out  to  the  girl. 

"From  my  father!"  cried  Alaine.  "What  does 
he  say?"  She  took  the  letter  and  read  rapidly. 
"  He  sees  danger  ahead ;  he  does  not  know  how  it 
will  result.  Some  one  has  contrived  to  undermine 
him  when  he  felt  safe,  and  he  may  have  to  make  an 
effort  to  escape  to  England  or  to  Holland.  Listen, 
Michelle  :  '  Should  my  daughter  desire  to  remain  in 
France,  or  should  she  declare  herself  unable  to  ac 
cept  my  belief,  do  not  urge  her,  but  allow  her  to 
remain  with  her  relations,  and  bear  to  her  my  love 
and  last  blessing.  But  should  she  wish  to  join  me 
in  London,  Christian  friends  at  the  French  church 
on  Threadneedle  Street  will  be  able  to  give  her 
word  of  me  if  I  succeed  in  making  my  escape.  We 
can  no  longer,  my  good  Michelle,  expect  tolerance, 
now  that  the  Edict  of  Nantes  has  been  revoked,  and 


28  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

for  your  own  sake  I  would  advise  you  to  leave  the 
country.  But  my  little  daughter,  should  you  desert 
her,  where  will  her  comfort  be  ?' 

"Ah,  Michelle,1'  the  tears  rained  down  Alaine's 
cheeks,  "let  us  go.  Take  me  with  you,  dear  Mi 
chelle.  I  shall  not  care  to  live  without  you  and 
papa.  Take  me  ;  let  us  go." 

"  My  dear  little  one,  have  you  thought  well  upon 
it?  The  way  is  full  of  danger.  Are  you  willing  to 
share  the  lot  of  a  poor  Huguenot?  Can  you  be 
content  in  poverty  and  in  a  strange  land?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  no  matter  what  comes,  I  am  willing  to 
face  it.  Teach  me  my  father's  belief,  Michelle,  so  that 
he  may  know  that  we  are  one  in  all  things." 

"  We  shall  have  to  start  before  to-morrow  dawns," 
said  Michelle,  after  a  moment's  thought. 

"  So  much  the  better,  for  I  promised  my  cousin 
that  he  should  have  my  answer  to-morrow.  He 
will  find  it  here.  We  must  not  let  the  servants 
know.  We  will  say  that  we  go  to  the  city  to  join 
my  father." 

"  Say  nothing,  but  come  to  my  room  after  dark 
this  night.  I  have  thought  of  little  else  this  day.  I 
was  up  betimes,  for  the  letter  came  to  me  by  the 
hand  of  a  friend  last  night,  and  I  did  but  wait  for 
a  proper  time  to  reveal  its  contents  to  you.  Your 
father  foresaw  this  days  ago.  He  told  me  where  I 
should  find  money.  I  have  sewed  it  into  the  hem 
of  my  petticoat.  You  will  be  disguised  as  a  boy. 
I  have  the  clothes  ready." 


A  WILD   MARIGOLD  29 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?" 

"  From  my  sister.  They  belonged  to  her  son. 
We  will  set  out  before  dawn  and  carry  eggs  to 
market.1" 

"We  will  stand  in  no  danger  of  being  inter 
cepted?" 

"  I  think  not.  Go  now,  my  pretty  one,  and  try 
to  be  as  like  yourself  as  possible.  In  these  days 
one  does  not  know  who  may  be  friend  or  foe.  I 
have  prepared  a  chest,  which  I  shall- send  out  during 
the  day  by  one  of  my  own  faith.  He  will  carry  it 
safely  to  Dieppe  for  us,  and  we  shall  not  need  to 
leave  all  behind." 

"  Poor  little  Fifi,  I  shall  have  to  leave  him.  Jean 
will  be  good  to  him  I  hope.1'  She  turned  away 
sadly  as  a  realizing  sense  of  what  she  must  forsake 
came  over  her. 

It  was  a  long,  weary  day  for  the  girl,  who  occu 
pied  herself  feverishly  in  such  ways  as  would  seem 
most  usual  to  the  servants.  "  Never  again  will  I 
see  my  home,"  she  said  over  and  over  again.  Over 
an  unknown  way  to  an  unknown  land,  the  thought 
would  now  and  again  terrify  her,  but  her  heart  leaped 
as  she  thought  of  her  father,  and  more  than  once 
Michelle  heard  her  clear  young  voice  singing  an  old 
madrigal.  "  Child  of  the  good  heart,11  she  would 
sigh,  "she  little  knows  of  what  is  before  her.  It  is 
but  the  strange  journey  to  a  strange  land  of  which 
she  thinks,  the  poor  little  one." 

The  house  was  very  still  when  Alaine  crept  from 


30  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

her  room  and  presented  herself  before  the  door  of 
Michelle's  chamber.  The  housekeeper's  room  was 
not  far  from  her  own,  for  Michelle  was  something 
more  than  servant  and  scarcely  less  than  one  of  the 
family.  "Are  you  ready,  Michelle?"  came  Alaine's 
whisper. 

The  door  opened  cautiously  and  she  went  in. 
"Can  I  help  you?"  she  asked.  "We  are  to  be 
comrades  from  now  henceforth,  Michelle  ;  let  us  not 
stand  upon  ceremony,"  she  added,  sweetly,  as  she 
saw  her  companion  hesitated  to  ask  a  service. 

"  If  you  will  help  me,  dear  child,  to  roll  my  Bible 
into  my  hair.  I  must  carry  it  so  lest  it  be  discov 
ered.  It  will  not  show  ?" 

"Not  at  all."  Alaine  viewed  the  arrangement 
critically.  "What  have  I  to  do?" 

"First  I  must  crop  your  abundance  of  brown 
locks.  A  boy  has  not  such  a  crop  of  hair."  And 
she  relentlessly  clipped  the  shining  tresses,  which 
slipped  to  the  ground  in  soft  coils.  Alaine  laughed 
to  see  herself,  at  last,  clad  in  the  blouse  of  a  peasant 
lad,  a  cap  set  upon  her  short  curls,  her  slender  hands 
stained  and  even  scratched.  "  They  will  then  look 
more  in  keeping  with  my  character,"  the  girl  said, 

gayiy- 

Then  out  into  the  night  they  slipped ;  Michelle 
with  basket  on  arm,  Alaine  with  one  hand  inside  her 
blouse  clasping  tightly  the  small  Beza  psalm-book ; 
from  henceforth  it  would  mean  more  than  a  family 
relic.  One  last  look  at  the  gray  walls  of  her  home 


A  WILD   MARIGOLD  31 

looming  up  darkly  against  the  starry  sky,  and  Alaine 
whispered,  "Forever!  forever!"  then  she  followed 
Michelle  down  the  dusty  road  to  where  Rouen  lay 
sleeping  by  the  river  Seine. 

The  streets  of  the  city  when  the  fugitives  reached 
it  were  full  of  armed  men,  who  rode  about  the  town 
changing  place  as  soon  as  they  had  compelled  those 
upon  whom  they  were  quartered  to  sign  their  act 
of  conformation.  They  seemed  to  be  everywhere, 
and  Alaine  shrank  closer  to  Michelle  as  she  noted 
the  haughty,  overbearing  look  of  the  soldiers.  "  Be 
of  good  heart,  little  one,"  Michelle  whispered. 
"  Remember  you  are  no  longer  Alaine  Hervieu,  but 
Jacques  Assire,  my  son,  and  we  live  in  the  direction 
of  Dieppe ;  we  return  to  our  home  when  we  have 
sold  our  eggs.  Name  of  Grace  !  but  one  sees  a  woe 
begone  set  of  countenances  here  ;  it  is  pitiful  indeed. 
We  have  escaped  none  too  soon ;  the  dragonnades 
are  in  full  force,  as  you  see,  and  if  we  would  not  be 
witnesses  to  worse  sights  than  the  driving  forth  of 
women  and  children  into  the  streets  we  will  not 
tarry  long.  It  is  early  yet,  but  none  too  early  for 
our  purpose." 

And,  indeed,  Michelle  had  hardly  exchanged  her 
eggs  for  some  of  the  homely  commodities  which  a 
peasant  might  be  supposed  to  buy,  when  issuing  from 
a  shop  across  the  narrow  street  Alaine  caught  sight 
of  her  cousin  Etienne.  "  Michelle,  Michelle,  do  not 
look ;  my  cousin  is  there  on  the  other  side,'1  the  girl 
said,  in  a  shrill  Avhisper. 


32  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Michelle  needed  no  second  warning,  but,  proving 
equal  to  the  occasion,  re-entered  the  shop,  where  she 
was  well  known,  and  where  she  held  a  brief  consul 
tation  with  the  shopkeeper,  which  resulted  in  the 
conducting  of  the  two  through  a  back  way  into  one 
of  the  riverside  streets,  where  numerous  inns  and 
drinking-places  stood  to  the  right  and  left.  Here 
sailors  rolled  jauntily  along,  and  here  wonderful  old 
houses,  each  story  overlapping  the  one  below, 
loomed  up  over  the  heads  of  the  passers-by.  A  few 
steps  away  was  the  Rue  Harenguerie,  and  here  in 
the  midst  of  the  cries  and  chatterings  of  the  fish 
wives  it  was  easy  to  lose  one's  self.  Across  on  the 
opposite  bank  was  the  favorite  promenade  of  the 
ladies  of  the  town.  Alaine  had  often  been  there 
with  her  aunt  among  the  careless  pleasure-seekers, 
but  now  she  watched  anxiously  the  stolid  counte 
nance  of  Michelle,  who  elbowed  her  way  through 
the  market,  and  at  last  stopped  upon  its  outskirts, 
where,  after  some  chaffering  with  a  sharp-eyed  man, 
she  appeared  satisfied,  and  turned  with  a  smile  to 
her  charge. 

"Here  we  go,1'  she  said.  "Yonder  is  the  cart 
which  will  take  us  in  the  direction  of  Dieppe ;  but, 
alas !  my  little  one,  you  have  been  looked  upon  too 
suspiciously ;  yours  is  no  peasant  face,  and  despite 
your  dress  you  may  be  detected,  for  I  gather  enough 
to  know  that  it  is  going  to  be  no  easy  task  to  get 
away  safely.  However,  if  you  can  be  content  with 
a  bed  of  cabbages  and  a  coverlet  of  carrots  you  shall 


33 

be  transported  without  harm.  As  for  me,  I  am 
weather-beaten  enough  to  pass  easily,  yet  we  must 
wait  till  evening  before  we  start.  Meantime,  under 
yonder  cart  is  your  refuge,  and  I  will  stay  here  pre 
tending  to  sell  fish." 

In  the  dimness  of  twilight  Alaine  was  established 
uncomfortably  enough  on  her  bed  of  cabbages,  and 
over  her  were  lightly  piled  some  overturned  baskets 
which  were  to  hide  her  from  view.  She  could 
breathe  easily  and  could  move  slightly,  but  the 
journey  was  long,  and  more  than  once  there  were 
moments  of  terror  when  the  cart  was  stopped  and 
the  driver  questioned.  Michelle,  however,  was 
always  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  by  daybreak  the 
small  fishing  village  toward  which  their  faces  were 
set  was  in  sight,  and  by  high  noon  the  refugees  were 
on  their  way  to  England. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  FEAST  OF  THE  FAT  CALF 

IN  the  little  village  of  New  Rochelle  there  was  a 
great  jollification  on  a  day  in  June  which  marks  the 
feast  of  John  the  Baptist.  From  one  of  the  houses 
erected  on  the  side  of  the  high  street  could  be  heard 
a  voice  singing  clearly  the  Huguenot  battle  psalm, — 

' '  Oh,  Lord,  thou  didst  us  clean  forsake 
And  scatter  all  abroad,  "- 

and  from  a  doorway  a  girl's  face  peeped  out.  "  They 
are  making  ready,  Mere  Michelle,1'  she  cried,  stop 
ping  her  song.  "  Hurry  with  the  loaves,  I  see 
Gerard  coming  now ;  the  men  are  gathering  from 
every  direction.  Hola,  Gerard,  is  it  a  very  fat  calf?" 
she  cried  to  the  young  man,  who  waved  his  cap  to 
her  as  he  approached. 

"A  lusty  young  creature,  indeed,"  he  replied,  as 
he  came  near.  "  Are  the  loaves  ready  ?" 

"  Mere  Michelle  is  but  now  placing  them  in  the 
baskets.  It  will  be  a  fine  day  for  the  feast,  Gerard. 
Some  one  said  there  were  new-comers  in  the  village 
to  swell  the  crowd." 

"  So  there  are,  and  to  share  the  feast.  The  num 
ber  increases.  Hasten,  good  mother,"  he  cried,  and 

34 


THE   FEAST   OF  THE   FAT   CALF        35 

from  the  inside  room  from  which  issued  odors  of 
newly  baked  bread  came  Michelle,  her  honest  face 
wreathed  in  smiles.  "  Papa  has  been  hurrying  me 
this  half-hour,  as  if  one  would  take  underdone  bread 
from  the  oven.  Yet  I  see  the  occasion  approaches  ; 
the  procession  is  forming.'1 

"  And  I  must  be  there.  You  will  soon  be  ready, 
you  and  Alaine.  I  shall  see  you  with  the  others." 
And  he  went  off  bearing  his  two  baskets  of  fresh 
loaves. 

Mere  Michelle  settled  her  cap.  Alaine  gave  a 
glance  at  herself  in  the  tiny  mirror,  smoothed  down 
her  black  silk  gown,  and  tucked  a  stray  lock  behind 
her  ear.  "  Will  I  do,  Mere  Michelle  ?"  she  asked. 

Michelle  looked  at  her  critically.  "Your  silver 
chain,  my  dear ;  a  maid  needs  a  bit  of  ornament. 
But  hasten,  for  I  hear  sounds  of  shouting  and  sing 
ing  coming  nearer  and  nearer." 

Alaine  clambered  up  the  ladder  which  led  to  her 
little  loft  chamber,  and  speedily  returned  decked  out 
with  her  silver  chain.  She  caught  Michelle's  hand 
and  hurried  her  along.  The  clumsy  latch  of  the  door 
clicked  behind  them  and  they  stepped  out  into  the 
glory  of  the  June  weather. 

Up  the  little  street  the  procession  trooped :  a  fat 
calf  well  garlanded  was  being  led  along  amid  cheers 
and  voluble  chatterings.  This  was  the  yearly  fee  to 
John  Pell,  lord  of  the  manor  of  Pelham,  in  return 
for  having  conveyed  to  Jacob  Leisler  six  thousand 
acres  of  land  on  which  was  built  the  village  of  New 


36  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Rocheile.  The  merry  crowd  was  every  few  steps 
augmented  by  new  participants,  who  joined  it  as  it 
passed  along,  and  all  trooped  towards  the  place  of 
presentation.  A  great  ceremony  this,  a  feast  always 
following  the  acceptance  of  the  calf,  and  the  sober 
Huguenots  became  for  the  occasion  lively  French 
men.  The  appearance  of  the  huge  joints  and  stacks 
of  fowls  and  venison  piled  up  before  them  served 
as  an  assurance  that  even  here  in  this  wild  country 
one  might  still  enjoy  an  occasional  fete  day. 

"La,  la!"  cried  Mere  Michelle,  "it  does  my  eyes 
good,  my  friend,  to  see  such  an  indulgence  of  mirth ; 
it  was  not  so  a  couple  of  years  ago,  eh,  Alainette  ?" 

"  Where  is  Papa  Louis  ?"  said  Alaine,  her  soft  eyes 
taking  in  the  scene,  "Ah,  here  he  is,  and  here 
comes  Gerard  bringing  a  stranger." 

"  Be  wary  of  strangers,"  was  Michelle's  warning. 

But  it  did  not  take  Michelle's  words  to  teach 
Alaine  discretion ;  she  had  learned  her  lesson  well 
in  these  two  years ;  moreover,  she  did  not  quite  like 
the  crafty  expression  in  the  eyes  of  the  young  man 
who  bowed  before  her. 

"  'Tis  good  to  hear  one's  own  tongue  spoken  with 
out  hesitation,"  said  the  stranger.  "  I  am  come  up 
from  New  York,  where  I  hear  little  except  a  vile 
Dutch  tongue  and  that  brain-splitting  English.  One 
finds  great  relief  in  this  gay  company,  as  much  from 
the  merry  occasion  as  from  the  association.  Your 
brother  was  good  enough  to  accede  to  my  request  to 
present  me.  He  is  your  brother,  is  he  not?" 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  FAT  CALF   37 

"The  son  of  my  mother's  husband,"  returned 
Alaine,  sedately.  "He  is  my  step-brother." 

"  Ah !  and  yonder  rosy-faced  good  wife  is  your 
mother?  You  do  not  resemble  her,  mademoi 
selle.1' 

"  I  resemble  my  own  father,"  replied  Alaine, 
steadily. 

"  And  from  what  part  of  France  are  you  ?  Ma 
dame  Mercier  should  be  from  Normandy.  I  am  at 
home  there.  I  was  born  in  Rouen." 

"Yes?"  Alaine  tried  to  look  indifferent,  but  her 
eyes  were  taking  in  every  detail.  She  had  a  dim 
consciousness  of  having  seen  this  face  before.  "  I 
was  not  born  there,"  she  added.  "The  Merciers 
are  not  from  there,  and  in  these  days,  monsieur, 
one's  birthplace  is  of  less  account  than  that  place 
where  he  will  meet  his  death." 

"Yes,  yes ;  quite  true,  when  one  is  in  a  wild  and 
savage  country.  M.  Mercier,  is  it  he  standing  yonder 
by  his  son  ?  The  son  has  overtopped  his  father  by 
many  inches." 

"That  is  M.  Mercier.  But  listen,  some  one  is 
starting  up  a  song  of  praise,  and  I  see  my  brother 
comes  for  me." 

"  I  say  but  an  revoir,  mademoiselle." 

Alaine  made  a  slight  inclination  of  her  head.  She 
did  not  like  the  confident  tone.  "  Gerard,"  she 
whispered  as  he  led  her  away,  "  who  is  the  man  ? 
He  is  too  inquisitive  for  my  liking.  He  does  not 
sing,  either.  I  hope  he  is  not  some  evil,  prying 


38  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

creature.  I  told  him  but  little,  whatever  he  may 
have  desired  to  know." 

"  What  did  you  tell  him  ?"  asked  Gerard. 

"  I  said  only  that  you  were  my  step-father's  son 
and  that  I  was  not  born  in  Rouen." 

Gerard  laughed.  "  Discreet  little  Alainette.  Come 
and  tell  Papa  Louis ;  it  will  amuse  him.  Do  you 
know  it  is  over  two  years,  Alaine,  since  we  left 
England,  and  more  than  a  year  since  we  came  away 
from  Martinique?" 

"Those  long  journeys,  how  I  remember  them 
with  horror,  Gerard !  Two  years  ago  I  was  Alaine 
Hervieu  and  you  were  Gerard  Legrand ;  to-day  we 
are  both  children  of  the  same  parents  and  of  the 
name  of  Mercier." 

"Than  whom  no  better  parents  exist.  For  our 
sakes,  Alaine,  what  have  they  not  done  ?" 

"  So,  my  children,  what  gives  you  so  grave  an 
aspect?"  inquired  Papa  Louis,  as  they  approached 
the  spot  where  he  and  his  wife  were  waiting  for 
them  that  they  might  continue  their  homeward 
way. 

"We  were  talking  of  you,  Papa  Louis,"  retorted 
Alaine,  with  a  flash  of  mischief  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  so  you  were  grave,"  he  laughed.  "  Enough, 
indeed,  am  I  for  gravity,  as  Michelle  says  when  I 
tramp  with  muddied  feet  upon  her  clean  floor,  or 
when  I  do  not  praise  her  cooking  in  fine  enough 
terms.  The  good  Michelle,  to  stand  a  mulish  hus 
band  who  is  so  obstinate  not  to  see  the  virtue  of 


THE   FEAST   OF   THE   FAT   CALF        39 

neatness.  A  year  and  more  married  and  no  im 
provement  ;  no  wonder  you  are  serious,  Alaine." 

"My  life,  but  you  invent  mockeries,  Louis,"  said 
Michelle.  "  Who  was  the  young  man  to  whom  you 
were  talking,  my  daughter?" 

"M.  Dupont,  from  Rouen,"  she  returned,  calmly. 

Michelle  started.     "And  you  told  him — what?" 

"I 'told  him  nothing  save  that  you  were  my 
mother,  Papa  Louis  your  husband,  Gerard  my 
brother  by  marriage.  Was  not  that  enough  ?" 

u  Enough,  and  not  too  much,"  said  Papa  Louis,  pat 
ting  her  hand.  "  Where  did  you  meet  him,  Gerard  ?" 

u  He  came  up  with  some  visitors  from  Manhatte." 

"  He  remains  for  some  time  ?" 

"  But  so  long  as  it  suits  him." 

"  He  must  not  meet  you  again,  Alaine."  Michelle 
spoke  with  anxious  voice.  "  Avoid  him.  He  may 
have  recognized  you  as  it  is,  for  he  is  a  friend  of 
your  cousin  fitienne's." 

"And  what  of  that?  I  am  far  removed  from  my 
cousin  Etienne,  and  beyond  his  anger,  thanks  to  you, 
good  mother." 

"You  cannot  be  sure  of  that." 

"Ah,  foolish  one,"  said  Papa  Louis,  "how  can  he 
reach  her  here  in  a  free  country?  You  are  right, 
Alaine  ;  you  need  not  fear." 

"  I  do  not"  She  threw  back  her  head  with  a 
movement  expressive  of  her  feeling  of  unchecked 
action.  "  I  fear  no  one  now." 

"  But  you  will  not  tell  him  your  name,"  Michelle 


40  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

urged,  still  anxious.  "  Do  me  so  small  a  favor  as 
this,  Alaine." 

"  I  have  already  told  him  I  am  Alaine  Mercier,  and 
I  shall  not  likely  meet  him  again.1' 

u  Yet  promise  me." 

"  If  it  please  you,  yes,  I  promise.  Now,  Papa 
Louis,  why  do  you  not  make  Gerard  promise  the 
same  thing  on  his  part?" 

Papa  Louis  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  chuckled. 
He  was  a  little  man,  with  an  eager,  gentle  face.  He 
stooped  slightly  and  had  the  air  of  a  student  rather 
than  of  a  peasant  or  a  mechanic.  Gerard  towered 
far  above  him. 

"  Papa  Louis  and  I  have  nothing  to  lose,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  Those  from  whom  all  has  been  taken 
have  nothing  to  conceal.  Every  one  knows  our 
story.1' 

"Still,"  said  the  cautious  Michelle,  UI  would  not 
be  too  free  to  tell  it." 

"  Maman  has  not  yet  lost  her  fear  of  the  dragon- 
nades,"  remarked  Papa  Louis.  "  She  cannot  quite 
grasp  the  fact  that  we  are  utterly  safe,  and  wakes  up 
with  a  dread  of  having  insolent  soldiers  quartered 
upon  her  before  night." 

"  Which  is  not  true,"  maintained  Michelle,  sturdily  ; 
"but,  Louis,  I  know  too  much  not  to  feel  that  the 
long  arm  of  resentment  can  stretch  across  seas." 

Papa  Louis  raised  his  hands.  "  She  speaks  well, 
this  wife  of  mine.  She  has  acquired  a  glibness  of 
speech  which  is  truly  remarkable." 


THE   FEAST   OF   THE   FAT   CALF        41 

"  That  comes  from  association  with  you,  Papa 
Louis,1'  laughed  Alaine,  taking  his  arm.  u  Let  us  be 
going.  Mere  Michelle's  bread  has  disappeared  like 
dew  before  the  sun ;  we  shall  get  no  more  though 
we  stay  here  all  night.  Take  maman  with  you, 
Gerard,  and  Papa  Louis  and  I  will  follow.  I  think 
we  should  celebrate  the  day,  too,"  she  said  to  M. 
Mercier,  "  for  it  is  due  to  that  same  accomplishment 
of  making  such  excellent  bread  that  we  are  here 
to-day." 

"True,  my  daughter,"  returned  her  companion. 
"  See,  we  will  deck  maman."  And  picking  up  a 
discarded  wreath  from  the  ground,  he  ran  forward 
and  flung  it  around  his  wife's  neck. 

"Am  I,  then,  a  fat  calf?"  spluttered  Michelle,  in 
dignant  at  this  assault  upon  her  dignity. 

"  No,  no,  maman,  you  are  honored  because  of 
your  able  pursuance  of  a  craft  which  brought  us 
here,"  said  Alaine,  kissing  her.  "  Let  me  see,  we 
will  rehearse  it  all  as  we  walk  along,  that  you  may 
understand  why  Papa  Louis,  in  a  burst  of  gratitude, 
has  so  decorated  you.  We  met  two  years  ago  on 
shipboard.  We  remember  it,  do  we  not,  Gerard? 
You  with  your  tutor,  Papa  Louis  there,  and  I  with 
my  foster-mother,  Mere  Michelle.  You  were  dressed 
as  a  girl,  and  in  your  petticoats,  as  well  as  in  Mere 
Michelle's,  \vere  sewed  some  gold  pieces,  while  in 
my  blouse  I  carried  my  book  of  psalms,  and  Papa 
Louis  carried  the  leaves  of  his  Bible  stitched  in  his 
coat.  We  became  friends  when  you  believed  me  a 


42  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

boy  and  I  believed  you  a  girl.  How  astonished  we 
were  when  we  discovered  that  we  might  well  ex 
change  places,  and  how  soon  those  gold  pieces 
melted  away  in  England !  and  in  Martinique,  what 
distress  we  endured !  so  hungry  and  forlorn  were 
we.  Then  did  maman  happily  think  of  baking  bread 
and  selling  it.  A  good  trade  it  was  and  one  that 
satisfied  our  own  hunger,  for  we  could  eat  the  stale 
loaves.  And  when  Papa  Louis  fell  ill  did  Mere 
Michelle  nurse  him  while  you  and  I  watched  the 
loaves  in  the  oven.  You  would  tell  me  of  your 
home  in  La  Rochelle,  and  of  your  escape  after  your 
father  and  mother  were  dragged  away,  and  I  would 
relate  of  our  weary  watching  for  my  father,  of  whom 
not  a  word  could  we  learn  in  London.  Then — be 
patient,  maman,  we  are  coming  to  the  end  of  the 
story — because  there  was  still  not  freedom  for  us  in 
Martinique,  said  Papa  Louis,  '  Had  I  but  the  money 
for  the  passage  we  would  go  to  New  England,'  and 
that  day  you,  Mere  Michelle,  found  a  gold  coin  where 
it  had  slipped  into  a  seam  of  your  petticoat,  and  not 
long  after  papa  remembered  a  jewel  which  he  still 
retained  for  Gerard.  Then  said  he,  '  When  we  can 
earn  enough  we  will  go  as  a  family,  my  good  Mi 
chelle,  if  you  will.  These  are  our  children,  Alaine 
and  Gerard  Mercier,  and  you  are  Madame  Mercier  if 
you  consent,  for  we  have  been  comrades  in  misfor 
tune  this  year  past,  and  my  life,  which  your  nursing 
has  saved,  is  yours.'  Was  it  not  so,  maman  ?  So 
now,  because  of  the  happy  thought  of  the  bread 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  FAT  CALF    43 

which  did  sustain  us  all,  and  because  of  your  in 
dustry  in  baking  and  selling  the  good  bread  which 
all  were  so  eager  to  buy,  we  at  last  managed  to  save 
enough  to  bring  us  here,  and  we  are  one  family. 
So,  now,  to-day,  on  which  they  celebrate  the  feast 
of  John  Baptist,  at  home  in  dear  France,  and  here 
does  honor  to  the  fat  calf,  we  will  also  have  a  feast 
of  the  loaves,  and  you  shall  always  be  crowned 
queen  of  the  feast.  Shall  it  not  be  so,  Papa  Louis? 
Shall  it  not,  Gerard  ?" 

The  recital  of  the  tale  and  the  honor  bestowed 
upon  her  so  overcame  Mere  Michelle  that  her  dignity 
lost  itself  in  tears,  and  she  fell  on  the  neck  of  her 
little  husband,  who  braced  himself  to  receive  her 
weight,  and  patted  her  comfortingly  on  the  back, 
while  Alaine  and  Gerard  started  up  a  joyful  psalm, 
then  ran  on  ahead  down  the  woodland  path  towards 
the  village,  saying  they  would  prepare  a  reception  at 
home. 

The  sound  of  merry  voices  had  not  ceased  in  the 
direction  of  the  place  of  the  feast.  The  occasion 
was  one  not  only  for  the  expression  of  ordinary  joy, 
but  it  served  to  voice  a  deeper  note,  that  of  thanks 
giving  for  an  escape  from  persecution,  and  to  the 
rollicking  songs  were  added  psalms  of  praise,  those 
psalms  so  long  denied  utterance  to  the  patient  band 
of  Huguenots  now  setting  up  their  homes  in  this 
new  world. 

The  woods  sweetly  smelling  in  the  June  weather, 
the  soft  odors  arising  from  the  sea-salt  marshes,  the 


44  BECAUSE   OF  CONSCIENCE 

glimpses  of  the  blue  sound,  the  peeping  up  here  and 
their  of  unfamiliar  blossoms  beneath  their  feet,  all 
these  things  awoke  in  the  hearts  of  Alaine  and 
Gerard  a  strange  new  feeling  of  unfettered  joyous- 
ness,  and  in  sheer  good  fellowship  Gerard  reached 
out  a  hand  to  clasp  the  girl's  as  they  walked  home. 
"You  look  very  happy,  my  sister,"  he  said.  "Not 
since  we  left  England's  shores  have  I  seen  you  so." 

"It is  good  to  live,"  Alaine  answered,  raising  her 
face  to  the  sky.  "  To  be  young  and  free  and  hope 
ful  is  much.  On  days  like  this,  Gerard,  I  always 
believe  that  I  shall  see  my  father  again.  Do  you 
feel  so  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not.  Papa  Louis  has  always  warned 
me  against  an  encouragement  of  hope  in  that  direc 
tion.  He  thinks  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  my  father 
and  mother  are  with  the  good  God." 

"  So  he  tells  me,  but  Mere  Michelle  says  that  it  is 
possible  that  my  father  may  have  become  an  engage ; 
that  thought  is  to  me  more  terrible  than  the  other, 
for  if  he  is  with  the  good  God  he  is  at  peace,  but 
otherwise  he  is  suffering  misery  at  the  hands  of  mas 
ters.  And  oh,  Gerard,  you  have  told  me  how  you  saw 
those  miserable  ones  tied  two  and  two,  walking  in 
procession  like  criminals,  or  wretchedly  bound  in  a 
cart.  Ah,  me,  to  be  sold  into  slavery,  yes,  that  is 
worse  than  death  for  a  Huguenot.  We  saw  at  Mar 
tinique  many  of  those  unfortunates,  and  the  thought 
that  my  father  may  be  one  such  as  those  is  too 
dreadful  to  endure.  No,  I  myself  am  readier  to 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  FAT  CALF   45 

believe  that  he  is  somewhere  in  hiding,  and  that  he 
will  yet  discover  us.  So  many  escaped  to  Holland 
who  eventually  have  reached  England,  and  our 
friends  of  the  church  in  London  are  aware  of  our 
arrival  here,  therefore  I  take  the  hope  to  my  heart 
that  my  father  and  I  may  yet  meet.  Meanwhile,  I 
am  willing  to  work  hard  in  gratitude  to  those  dear 
parents  of  our  adoption." 

"  And  I,  too,  Alaine.  We  must  do  our  share  for 
their  sakes,  for  they  have  spared  no  pains  to  help 
us.  Papa  Louis  has  never  been  strong  since  that 
dreadful  fever  on  the  island,  and  besides,  a  man  who 
has  spent  his  days  poring  over  books,  what  is  he  to 
till  the  ground  or  to  work  at  the  looms  ?" 

"You  grow  so  tall  and  strong,  Gerard,  I  think  you 
look  a  man  already.  I,  too,  grow  strong  and  hardy 
in  this  good  salt  air.  I  trust  I  may  grow  in  grace 
likewise,"  she  added,  piously.  "  I  cared  not  once 
much  about  that,  Gerard,  but  these  sore  trials  have 
sobered  me."  Then  her  fresh  young  voice  took 
up  the  psalm, — 

"  Sus,  sus,  mon  ame,  il  te  faut  dire  bien 
De  1'  Eternal  :  6  mon  vrai  Dieu,  combien 
Ta  grandeur  est  excellent  et  notoire  !" 

Gerard  joined  in,  and  hand  in  hand  they  continued 
their  way  through  the  woods  and  up  the  path  to 
their  home,  Papa  Louis  and  Michelle  following,  the 
latter  still  garlanded. 

Gerard  and  Alaine  fled  laughing  to  the  little  loft 


46  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

chamber,  and  presently  down  came  a  lad  in  a  blouse 
too  small  for  the  expanding  figure,  and  following,  a 
girl  in  very  short  petticoat  and  coarse  chemise. 

"  La,  la !"  cried  Michelle.  "  Here  they  are,  the 
bad  ones.  Look,  papa,  did  you  ever  know  such 
mischiefs?  They  have  grown,  in  truth,  these  two 
years.  Such  short  petticoats,  Gerard,  and  your 
blouse,  Alaine,  is  far  too  small ;  you  can  scarce  meet 
it.  Another  year  and  you  cannot  wear  the  gar 
ments,  my  children.  Put  them  away  and  keep  them 
as  a  reminder  that  the  grace  of  God  has  lent  you  the 
name  of  Mercier." 

A  knock  at  the  door  silenced  their  laughter. 
Alaine  shrank  behind  Michelle's  broad  back,  and 
Gerard,  looking  rather  foolish  in  his  short  petticoat, 
retreated  into  a  corner.  Papa  Louis  opened  the 
door  to  welcome  a  neighbor,  M.  Therolde.  Behind 
him  came  the  stranger  whom  Alaine  had  met  at  the 
fete.  "A  little  frolic  to  end  the  day's  entertain 
ment,"  said  Papa  Louis.  "My  children  are  attired 
for  our  amusement.  You  will  excuse  their  costumes, 
gentlemen.  Come  forward,  Gerard  ;  your  petticoats 
are  none  too  short  that  they  need  stand  in  the  way 
of  a  greeting  to  our  friends.  And  you,  my  daugh 
ter,  need  not  mind  masquerading  in  your  brother's 
clothes  upon  a  fete-day." 

"  We  but  stopped  to  give  you  thanks  for  the  ac 
ceptable  addition  to  our  feast,  Madame  Mercier,"  said 
Jacob  Therolde.  "  Truly,  madame  distinguishes  her 
self  in  the  baking  of  excellent  bread.  Not  a  frag- 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  FAT  CALF    47 

ment  was  left ;  the  good  wives  even  saved  the  crusts, 
nor  would  let  the  dogs  have  them.  You  have 
changed  places,  eh,  my  children  ?  Come,  M.  Du- 
pont,  we  are  promised  at  home." 

"It  was  an  ill-timed  call,"  complained  Michelle, 
when  the  guests  had  departed.  "  I  saw  that  young 
man  view  you  with  all  too  familiar  eyes,  Alaine.  I 
wish  he  might  never  be  seen  here  again.  I  do  not 
like  him,  nor  ever  did." 

"There,  maman,  there,"  began  Papa  Louis,  "do 
not  discompose  yourself;  we  must  be  merry  to-night. 
Your  little  bird  will  not  hop  so  far  out  of  your  sight 
that  she  will  be  snared.  A  beaker  of  wine  will  we 
drink  in  health  to  us  all,  and  then  Gerard  and  I  must 
see  to  our  chores,  for  it  is  later  than  it  would  seem ; 
the  long  day  was  over  an  hour  ago." 


CHAPTER    III 


"Ix  is  a  long  walk,  my  child,"  Papa  Louis  was 
saying;  "you  should  not  think  of  taking  it." 

"But  try  me,  papa,"  Alaine  persisted,  "and  if  I 
tire  myself  there  may  be  cars  to  take  me  in.  Is  it 
not  so,  Mother  Michelle  ?  Surely  the  Bonneaux  or 
the  Allaires  or  the  Sicards  are  no  stronger  than  I ; 
and  even  if  there  be  no  room,  or  no  cars  going  in 
the  morning,  I  can  walk." 

"  She  must  have  her  will  at  all  times,  the  little 
one,"  Papa  Louis  said,  with  a  sigh  of  resignation. 
"  See  you,  then,  Gerard,  that  maman  does  not  over- 
fatigue  herself,  and  so  you  will  go  ahead,  Michelle, 
and  we  follow  in  the  morning.  We  shall  needs  be 
up  by  break  of  day,  Alaine." 

Already  the  sound  of  the  low-wheeled  wagons 
could  be  heard  rumbling  down  the  one  street  of  the 
town ;  these  "  cars"  with  their  canvas  tops,  their 
deep  felloes  and  turned  spokes,  were  thoroughly 
French  in  appearance ;  they  were  filled  with  women 
and  children,  only  the  very  little  ones  being  left  at 
home  with  some  care-taker.  By  the  side  of  the 
wagons  walked  the  men  in  sabots,  and  carrying 
their  shoes  and  stockings  in  their  hands.  Each  man 

48 


THE  WAY   TO    CHURCH  49 

was  well  armed,  for  the  way  through  the  deep  forests 
was  full  of  possible  dangers.  Upon  the  soft  silence 
of  the  summer  evening  arose  the  plaintive  strains  of 
a  hymn.  The  march  to  church  had  begun,  although 
it  was  still  Saturday  evening.  "  0  Lord,  Thou  didst 
us  clean  forsake,"  chimed  in  the  voices  of  Gerard 
and  Michelle  as  they,  too,  joined  the  company, 
dressed  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  a  touch  of  color 
giving  evidence  of  the  fact  that,  sober  and  earnest  as 
were  these  people,  they  were  still  truly  French. 

Dowrn  the  street  the  troop  went,  their  hymn,  which 
they  invariably  sang  upon  starting,  echoing  along  the 
way.  They  were  always  singing,  these  Huguenots, 
as  if  they  could  never  make  up  for  those  days  when 
their  psalms  were  denied  them.  Alaine  watched  till 
the  last  figure  became  hidden  by  the  trees,  then  she 
turned  to  say,  "  The  poor  little  cow,  it  would  scarce 
be  right  to  leave  her,  and  you  Avell  know,  Papa 
Louis,  that  I  would  be  wretched  to  know  you  were 
here  alone.  I  do  not  mind  the  long  walk  nor  the 
early  start,  and  by  morning  I  hope  our  Petite  Etoile 
will  have  regained  her  health ;  she  would  be  a  sore 
loss." 

Papa  Louis  looked  grave.  It  had  been  a  struggle 
to  acquire  even  the  little  they  had,  though  it  was  of 
the  plainest.  Theirs  was  a  long,  low-pitched  house, 
with  a  big  living-room  below  and  two  loft  chambers 
above.  In  the  former  could  be  seen  two  beds  with 
blue  linen  curtains,  a  couple  of  chests,  a  small  table 
octagonal  in  form,  a  little  mirror  in  gilded  frame. 

4 


50  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

By  the  huge  fireplace  hung  the  warming-pan,  and 
there  was  a  brass  candlestick  upon  the  shelf  above 
it.  A  gun  and  powder-horn  were  hung  within  easy 
reach  of  Papa  Louis's  arm.  In  the  fireplace  swung 
two  iron  pots  on  long  cranes,  and  at  the  side  hung  a 
bright  kettle.  Two  spinning-wheels,  of  course,  held 
their  places,  but  now  their  drowsy  hum  was  hushed, 
for  Alaine,  stepping  briskly  back  and  forth,  prepared 
the  supper.  From  time  to  time  she  looked  out  of 
the  open  door  toward  the  barn  just  beyond  the 
garden,  now  brave  in  summer  blossoms.  The 
pretty  young  cow  had  been  joyously  welcomed,  and 
now  a  wicked  wolf  had  torn  her  sleek  skin  so  that 
Papa  Louis  must  needs  doctor  her.  "He  is  so 
skilful,  that  Papa  Louis,"  said  Alaine  to  herself, 
pausing,  wooden  tankard  in  hand  ;  "  he  knows  herbs 
and  simples  well ;  his  book  knowledge  has  served 
him  more  than  once,  the  dear  little  papa.  And  how 
he  loved  his  garden !  It  is  well  that  Gerard  has  a 
strong  arm  for  the  furrows,  else  the  corn  would  not 
look  as  well  as  the  flowers.  Mere  Michelle  can  guide 
a  plough  and  handle  a  scythe  better  than  her  husband. 
How  we  laughed,  Gerard  and  I,  when  she  first  taught 
papa  to  follow  the  plough  !  the  poor  little  papa,  he  was 
so  determined  and  so  patient,  while  big  Mere  Michelle 
scolded  and  encouraged  and  laughed."  She  took 
her  tankard  out  to  the  well,  which  stood  in  front  of 
the  door.  Guiding  the  long  sweep  till  the  bucket 
touched  the  clear  water  below,  she  waited  till  it 
filled  and  then  drew  it  up,  balanced  it  on  the  curb, 


THE  WAY  TO   CHURCH  51 

and  poured  the  water  into  the  trough.  At  this 
instant  Papa  Louis  appeared  leading  the  cow. 
u  Good  !"  cried  Alaine.  "  He  brings  her  for  a  drink, 
poor  pretty  Etoile.  It  was  fortunate  that  she  was 
not  far  off  when  Gerard  heard  her  cry,  else  she 
would  have  fed  the  wicked  wolf  ere  now."  Over 
the  orderly  rows  of  vegetables  she  looked  to  see 
Papa  Louis  advance. 

"We  shall  have  no  milk  to-night,"  he  told  her, 
"  yet  she  becomes  better,  and  I  think  to-morrow  will 
see  her  safe,  so  we  can  start  betimes.1' 

Alaine  with  gentle  hand  stroked  the  soft  ears  of 
the  cow,  which  eagerly  drank  from  the  trough  and 
was  led  back  to  the  barn ;  then  the  girl  filled  her 
tankard  and  bore  it  indoors. 

"I  must  go  to  see  Alexandre  Allaire,"  said  Papa 
Louis  when  the  simple  meal  was  over.  "  I  shall 
have  to  leave  you  alone  here  for  a  short  time,  my 
daughter,  but  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  I  greatly  de 
sire  to  know  where  we  stand  in  the  matter  of  a  new 
church ;  a  deep  longing  for  it  takes  possession  of  us 
all,  and  I  trust  the  day  is  not  distant  when  we  can 
rear  the  walls  of  a  new  temple  here  in  the  wilder 
ness." 

By  the  time  he  had  disappeared  behind  the  leafy 
trees  just  beyond  the  newly  set  out  orchard  Alaine 
had  cleared  away  the  supper  dishes  and  ran  out  for 
a  last  look  at  her  fowls.  They  must  be  well  secured, 
and  there  was  no  Michelle  there  to  spy  out  a  pos 
sible  loop-hole  where  wild  creatures  could  make  an 


52  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

entrance.  Assuring  herself  that  all  was  safe,  she 
returned  to  the  house.  As  she  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  by  the  dim  light  she  saw  sitting  a  figure  bend 
ing  over  the  little  table. 

"Ah,  mademoiselle,  I  am  indeed  fortunate,"  said 
Francois  Dupont,  who  put  down  the  book  he  had 
been  holding  and  advanced  to  meet  her.  "  I  feared 
you  might  have  gone  with  the  others  upon  the  long 
journey  to  Manhatte,  yet  I  did  not  see  you  among 
the  train  as  they  passed,  and,  therefore,  I  ventured 
here  in  hopes  of  finding  you." 

Alaine  retreated  a  step.  What  ill  fate  had  given 
her  an  interview  with  this  man  whom  she  had  hoped 
never  to  see  again  ? 

"And  I  was  fortunate,"  he  repeated,  "Made 
moiselle — Hervieu." 

'•  Alaine  started,  but  recovered  herself  to  say, 
steadily,  "  My  father,  M.  Louis  Mercier,  will  be  here 
in  a  moment  to  welcome  you,  monsieur.  I  regret 
that  Madame  Mercier,  my  mother,  is  not  here  to 
entertain  you." 

M.  Dupont  looked  at  her  with  a  half-smile  curling 
his  lips.  "All  of  which  sounds  very  well,  made 
moiselle,  but  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  Mademoi 
selle  Hervieu,  herself,  does  not  seem  over-glad  to 
meet  an  old  acquaintance." 

"An  old  acquaintance?  An  exceedingly  short 
acquaintance.  It  was  at  the  Feast  of  the  Fat  Calf 
that  I  met  you,  and  since  then  not  at  all.'1 

"  But  that  was  not  our  first  meeting :  I  remember 


THE  WAY   TO    CHURCH  53 

a  charming  child  who  visited  her  aunt  one  day,  when 
I  was  also  there,  and  to  whom  I  offered  some  cher 
ries  which  I  had  gathered ;  I  snatched  them  from 
her  before  she  had  a  taste  of  them,  and  I  remember 
how  I  chased  the  little  maid  around  the  garden  and 
made  her  give  me  a  taste  of  her  cherry  lips  in  ex 
change  for  the  fruit.  I  have  not  forgotten  the  pretty 
little  incident,  Mademoiselle  Hervieu,  although  it  was 
some  years  ago,  and  you  were  but  a  gay  and  happy 
child." 

Alaine  stood  silent,  but  there  was  fierce  anger  in 
her  eyes.  He  dared  remind  her  now.  She  looked 
helplessly  from  one  side  to  the  other,  then  she  lifted 
her  chin  with  a  haughty  gesture.  "  Monsieur,  your 
imagination  quite  exceeds  your  memory.  I  declare 
to  you  that  I  have  not  the  honor  of  your  acquaint 
ance." 

He  laughed  mockingly.  "  She  has  very  much  the 
air  of  a  peasant,  this  child  of  the  good  honest  Mi 
chelle  of  the  bourgeois  face.  Strange  how  she  re 
sembles  her  mother."  He  glanced  at  the  girl's  slim 
hands  and  feet,  and  his  eyes  travelled  back  to  the 
well-set  little  head  and  the  fine  oval  of  the  fair  face. 
"  So  closely  does  she  resemble  her  mother  that  I 
can  well  imagine  how  she  will  look  some  twenty- 
five  years  from  now."  He  laughed  again.  "We  of 
the  upper  class  do  not  mind  amusing  ourselves  with 
a  peasant  lass,  mademoiselle,  and  so  you  cannot  be 
surprised  if  I  steal  a  second  kiss,  since  you  repudiate 
the  one  you  gave  me  six  or  eight  years  ago."  He 


54  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

made  a  step  toward  her,  and  Alaine  shrank  back 
with  a  little  cry.  "Monsieur,"  she  said,  in  a  low, 
strained  voice,  "what  is  your  motive  in  all  this  ?" 

"Ah-h!  she  comes  to  herself;  the  peasant  lass  is 
no  more ;  she  was  too  much  for  Mademoiselle  Her- 
vieu.  I  but  desire  to  press  my  claim  to  your  ac 
quaintance,  and  to  urge  you  to  return  to  the  home 
which  is  still  open  to  you ;  to  say  that,  as  the  friend 
of  your  cousin,  fitienne  Villeneau,  I  desire  to  do  him 
the  favor  of  returning  the  lady  of  his  love  to  his 
arms.  I  had  an  opportunity  of  looking  into  the 
small  black  book  on  yonder  table,  the  book  which 
contains  those  hymns  you  Huguenots  are  so  fond  of 
singing  at  all  times  and  in  all  places.  I  am  too 
familiar  with  the  Hervieu  arms  not  to  recognize  the 
plate  on  the  inside  lid  of  the  book,  and  the  haunting 
face  of  the  demoiselle  whom  I  met  at  the  fete  was 
no  longer  that  of  a  stranger.  I  understand  why  it 
seemed  so  familiar ;  in  the  flash  of  an  eye  I  recol 
lected  the  little  scene  which  I  have  just  recounted 
to  you.  That  you  were  not  better  known  to  me  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  for  some  years  past  I  have  been 
in  Paris  to  complete  my  studies."  Alaine  listened 
gravely,  making  no  comment.  He  waved  his  hand 
to  a  chair.  "May  v/e  not  sit,  mademoiselle?  I 
have  more  to  say.  I  would  not  keep  you  standing." 

She  bit  her  lip,  but  seated  herself  and  regarded 
him  silently. 

"fitienne  Villeneau  is  my  friend;  we  were  to 
gether  at  school  in  Rouen.  Always  fitienne  spoke 


THE  WAY  TO   CHURCH  55 

of  his  little  cousin,  his  sweetheart,  as  he  called  her. 
Judge  of  my  surprise  and  distress  when,  upon  my 
return  home  some  two  years  ago,  I  was  told  that 
this  same  pretty  child  whom  I  so  w^ell  remembered 
had  been  stolen  by  her  foster-mother  and  had  dis 
appeared,  no  one  knew  where.  Etienne  was  in 
despair ;  he  sent  his  emissaries  to  search  high  and 
low,  but  to  no  avail.  When  he  knew  I  was  to  de 
part  for  these  colonies  he  gave  me  as  a  parting 
charge,  'My  cousin,  Fra^ois,  forget  her  not  when 
you  are  in  the  land  of  the  savage,  and  if  chance  be 
that  you  come  across  any  who  know  of  her,  press 
home  the  discovery,  so  will  you  be  my  heart's  best 
friend.1  I  find  you  here.  I  see  you  in  this  humble 
cot,  performing  with  your  own  hands  tasks  that  your 
servants  at  home  should  be  doing  for  you,  and, 
therefore,  mademoiselle,  not  only  in  pity  for  my 
friend,  but  in  sympathy  for  you,  I  beg  of  you  to 
return  to  your  native  country.1' 

"Monsieur,"  Alaine's  voice  was  low  and  deter 
mined,  "  you  forget  that  I  am  a  Huguenot.11 

He  snapped  his  fingers  with  an  upward  movement 
of  them  as  he  would  say,  "So  slight  a  matter?11 
"That  is  easily  adjusted,  mademoiselle.  Because 
you,  as  a  child,  were  over-persuaded  by  your  nurse 
is  no  reason  why,  as  a  woman,  you  should  not 
revoke  your  opinions.11 

"  My  father  is  also  Protestant,"  said  Alaine,  her 
dark  eyes  growing  larger  and  more  intense. 

"Your  father,  M.  Hervieu?     And  where  is  he?" 


56  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  I  know  not,  but  this  I  know  :  for  his  sake,  if  not 
for  my  own  conviction,  would  I  forswear  the  country 
which,  if  it  has  not  witnessed  his  death,  has  con 
demned  him  to  a  life  of  misery.  Dearly  as  I  loved 
my  own  France,  I  am  more  Huguenot  than  French. 
Revoke  my  decision  ?  Abjure  my  belief?  Never ! 
Day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour  it  becomes  more  and 
more  dear  to  me  in  this  free  home.  Listen,  mon 
sieur  :  to-morrow  morning  I  start  at  break  of  day  to 
walk  over  twenty  miles  to  church.  I  shall  do  it 
gladly,  joyfully,  for  it  brings  me  to  a  service  which 
is  my  delight.  Would  I  do  this  if  I  could  be  turned 
by  your  chance  words  ?  My  home  is  humble,  yes, 
but  here  we  are  free  to  sing  our  psalms,  to  worship 
as  we  desire.  I  toil  with  my  hands ;  I  labor  in  the 
fields  that  I  may  help  to  pay  for  this  piece  of  land 
which  we  call  ours.  I  would  work  a  thousand  times 
harder  for  those  who  cherish  me  and  who  have  given 
me  their  honest,  honorable  name  that  I  may  be  safe 
from  those  who  hunt  me  down  and  who  seek  to  do 
me  despite.  Leave  these,  my  dear  adopted  parents  ? 
Never,  till  my  father  himself  returns  to  claim  me.1' 

M.  Dupont  listened  thoughtfully.  "You  would 
leave  only  at  your  father's  command  ?  It  behooves 
me,  then,  to  find  him." 

Alaine  clasped  her  hands.  "  Oh,  monsieur,  find 
him,  find  him,  and  I  will  bless  you  forever,  though 
you  may  be  my  enemy !" 

"  Your  enemy  ?"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  ;  then 
looking  at  her  with  an  inexplicable  smile,  he  said, 


THE  WAY   TO    CHURCH  57 

"Consider  me  yours  to  command,  mademoiselle. 
We  shall  meet  again,  fair  Alaine  Hervieu,  and  I  shall 
yet  bid  you  good-morrow  under  the  skies  of  France." 
He  lifted  the  heavy  wooden  latch  of  the  door  and 
bowed  himself  out,  leaving  Alaine  stunned  and 
bewildered. 

In  the  dimness  of  the  room  Papa  Louis  did  not 
perceive  the  expression  on  the  girl's  face  as  he  en 
tered  and  gayly  cried,  "The  wolves  have  not  de 
voured  my  little  bird,  I  see." 

Alaine  flew  toward  him  and  clasped  his  arm. 
u  Oh,  papa,  papa,  there  has  been  some  one  here !" 
And  she  poured  forth  her  tale,  one  moment  the  pas 
sionate  tears  falling,  and  the  next  a  tremor  born  of 
fear  creeping  into  her  voice. 

Papa  Louis  listened  silently  until  she  had  con 
cluded,  then  he  said,  "  But  this  young  man,  he  is 
Protestant ;  he  is  a  friend  of  Jacob  Therolde's.  I 
have  been  speaking  but  now  of  him  to  Alexandre 
Allaire.  He  has  talked  to  one  and  another,  and  no 
one  seems  to  imagine  evil  of  him.  This  is  a  puzzle, 
my  daughter.  I  am  dismayed  by  the  strangeness  of 
it.  Ma  petite,  he  did  but  tease  you,  perhaps ;  yes, 
that  is  it,  he  did  not  mean  it  when  he  urged  your 
return  to  France ;  he  would  find  out  how  steadfast 
you  really  are,  that  is  all." 

"  No,  no,  I  am  sure  it  was  not  that ;  yet " 

She  paused  and  considered  the  matter.  "He  did 
not  say  that  he  was  not  Protestant,  he  but  spoke  as 
if  it  were  nothing  to  change  one's  religion  as  favors 


58  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

come  one's  way.  If  he  is  not  Protestant,  why  is  he 
here  among  us,  so  far  from  home?  and  what  means 
his  ardent  friendship  for  my  cousin  ?  I  am  terrified 
by  it  all,  papa." 

"  But  you  need  have  no  fear.  Who  shall  take 
you  from  us  ?  Not  one  man,  nor  two.  So  go  to 
sleep,  my  little  one  ;  the  good  God  will  defend  you. 
Say  your  prayers  to  Him  and  sleep  well,  for  we  have 
a  long  walk  before  us  and  must  start  betimes.  I 
hope  before  long  that  it  will  be  but  a  step  to  our 
own  temple  of  worship.  Mark  how  sweet  is  the 
air  and  how  quiet  the  night.  God  be  thanked  for 
our  peace.  Embrace  me,  little  one,  and  good 
night." 

Alaine  crept  up  the  ladder  to  her  room  above. 
Why,  after  all,  should  she  fear?  There  were  papa 
and  Gerard  and  all  the  good  friends  and  neighbors 
to  defend  her.  What  could  one  man  do  ?  and  why 
should  he  desire  to  harm  her?  And  she  went  to 
sleep  with  a  prayer  upon  her  lips. 

It  required  an  early  start,  indeed,  to  reach  New 
York  in  time  for  the  service.  Alaine  put  up  a  frugal 
lunch,  and  with  others,  who  had  not  gone  the  even 
ing  before,  they  started  forth,  the  men  armed,  for 
who  knew  what  lurking  foe  might  not  come  upon 
them  in  the  lonely  woods.  Singing  they  went :  those 
old  songs  of  Marot's  and  of  Beza's  so  dear  to  the 
Huguenot  heart.  To-day  the  talk  was  serious. 
Fierce  and  fiercer  had  grown  the  conflict  between 
Romanists  and  Protestants.  James  II.  of  England 


THE  WAY   TO    CHURCH  59 

had  been  compelled  to  abdicate ;  France  had  de 
clared  war  against  England ;  a  Committee  of  Safety 
had  intrusted  Jacob  Leisler  with  the  command  of 
the  fort  in  New  York,  and  to  him  the  eyes  of  the 
people  wrere  turned.  Would  the  French  descend 
and  threaten  New  York  ?  Would  the  Indians  join 
them  and  there  be  worse  to  be  expected  ? 

"  Ah,  la  la,11  sighed  Alaine,  as  she  stepped  briskly 
along  by  the  side  of  Papa  Louis,  "  I  see  you  are 
anxious  to  discuss  the  latest  news  with  M.  Sicard. 
Leave  me  to  trudge  along  with  the  younger  lads  and 
go  you,  good  papa,  to  those  ahead." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile.  "  So  ready  to  be 
rid  of  papa?  However,  I  do  wish  to  discuss  these 
matters,  and  I  will  send  back  to  you  some  one  who 
lias  been  casting  longing  looks  this  way  ever  since 
we  started.  Approach,  Pierre,  and  defend  my  daugh 
ter  from  any  naughty  enemy  who  may  descend  upon 
us,"  he  cried  to  one  of  the  young  men  striding  along 
in  his  clumping  sabots  and  with  gun  in  hand. 

A  smile  lighted  up  the  grave  face  of  the  youth. 
"Papa  Louis  is  always  a  good  companion,"  he  re 
turned  ;  "I  fear  mademoiselle  will  lose  by  the  ex 
change." 

"  Variety,  my  dear  boy,  variety  ;  we  need  it.  Pray, 
how  would  taste  one's  pot  a  feu  if  but  one  ingredient 
composed  it?  A  little  of  this,  a  little  of  that,  and 
we  have  a  dish  fit  for  a  king.  So  with  life,  my  good 
Pierre ;  one  needs  a  mixture.  I  leave  you  to  help 
to  a  good  flavor  my  daughter's  pottage  to-day.  Be 


60  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

not  onion  to  make  her  weep,  nor  pepper  to  cause 
her  anger."  And,  laughing,  Papa  Louis  gayly 
stepped  ahead,  and  Pierre  fell  into  a  pace  to  match 
Alaine's. 

uYou  undertake  a  long  walk,"  Pierre  said,  after 
a  moment's  silence. 

"  Yes,  but  you  know  our  cow  was  hurt,  and  'twas 
not  safe  to  leave  her  last  night,  so  I  stayed  behind 
to  keep  Papa  Louis  company,  although  Gerard  begged 
to  do  so.  But  papa  would  not  hear  of  Mere  Mi 
chelle's  going  alone,  and  thus  it  settled  itself.  I  have 
long  wanted  to  take  this  journey.  I  am  young  and 
strong,  and  why  not  ?  Mere  Michelle,  active  as  she 
is,  could  not  well  stand  it,  but  I  am  sure  I  can." 
She  paused  and  looked  at  her  tall  companion,  who, 
always  grave,  to-day  seemed  more  so  than  usual. 
"I  wanted  to  tell  you,  Pierre,"  she  began  again, 
"  that  I  do  not  trust  that  M.  Dupont  who  was  in 
our  village  yesterday,  and  also  upon  the  day  of  the 
fete.  He  claims  affiliation  with  us,  but  I  believe  he 
is  a  Papist." 

"  Even  so,  there  are  some  good  Papists,"  returned 
Pierre,  quietly. 

Alaine  gave  a  little  scream  of  protest.  "  You  to 
say  so,  Pierre !  You  who  began  your  life  in  the 
midst  of  horrors  and  who  have  suffered  the  loss  of 
all  nearest  to  you  ?" 

He  gave  her  one  of  his  rare  smiles.  "  Do  you 
remember  what  the  good  Beza  said  in  reply  to  the 
king  of  Navarre  ?  '  Sire,  it  belongs  in  truth  to  the 


THE  WAY   TO   CHURCH  61 

Church  of  God,  in  whose  name  I  speak,  to  endure 
blows  and  not  inflict  them.  But  it  will  also  please 
your  Majesty  to  remember  that  she  is  an  anvil  that 
has  worn  out  many  hammers.' ' 

Alaine  nodded.  "  I  remember  the  couplet  which 
Papa  Louis  taught  me, — 

'  Plus  a  me  frapper  on  s' amuse, 
Tant  plus  de  marteau  on  y  use.' 

But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Pierre,  I  am  not  a  pa 
tient  being.  I  am  full  of  indignation  many  times 
a  day,  and  I  wonder  if  I  will  over  be  called  a  patient 
Huguenot.  That  anvil,  it  is  because  of  Beza's  words 
that  we  have  it  for  an  emblem,  is  it  not  so  ?  I  like 
better  the  marigold  myself." 

"And  I  like  the  anvil,"  returned  Pierre. 

Alaine  gave  him  a  half-saucy  look  from  under  her 
long  lashes.  "Yes,  you  are  more  like  an  anvil," 
she  told  him. 

"Quite  hard  you  mean?" 

"  I  did  not  say  so.     Perhaps  I  meant  very  useful." 

"And  you  are  more  like  the  marigold." 

"Quite  useless?" 

"  I  did  not  say  so.  Perhaps  I  meant  because  of 
a  heart  of  gold." 

"  Merci,  monsieur.  I  like  that  better  than  if  you 
had  said  as  truly  lovely." 

"I  meant  that,  too." 

"It  strikes  me,"  said  Alaine,  slyly,  "that  one 
should  not  put  honey  in  pot  a  feu." 


62  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  Let  us  have,  then — what  shall  we  say  ?" 

"  A  smack  of  gossip  which  we  will  call  herbs  for 
smart  flavor;  I  will  repeat  that  I  do  not  trust  M. 
Dupont,  and  you  can  contradict  me  if  you  will.  I 
tell  you  this  because  I  do  not  want  to  say  so  to 
Gerard,  who  is  too  fiery,  nor  to  Papa  Louis,  who 
would  call  me  an  alarmist,  nor  to  Mere  Michelle,  who 
would  be  seized  with  affright.  But  remember,  if 
anything  happens,  that  I  said  this.  Ah,  here  we 
come  to  the  rock  where  we  rest.  I  see  the  clump 
of  cedars  quite  plainly.  You  shall  have  a  taste  of 
Mere  Michelle's  good  bread  for  your  pretty  compli 
ments." 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  spot  which 
invariably  served  as  the  resting-place  for  the  church 
goers,  and  from  there  they  travelled  on  to  Collect 
Pond,  where  the  dusty  feet  were  bathed,  the  shoes 
and  stockings  put  on,  and  the  journey  considered  as 
nearly  over.  The  neighborhood  of  the  French 
church  in  Marketfield  Street  was  alive  with  the 
crowds  of  those  who  had  come  from  Long  Island, 
Staten  Island,  and  New  Rochelle.  Many  had  passed 
the  night  in  the  "  cars,"  and  had  eaten  their  break 
fast  in  these  same  wagons,  to  be  ready  for  the  long 
service  before  the  last  stragglers  should  have  arrived. 

"And  are  you  so  very  fatigued,  my  pigeon?" 
asked  Papa  Louis,  as  Alaine,  a  little  pale,  but  still 
keeping  up  her  energetic  walk,  approached  the 
church. 

"  I  am  a  little  tired,"  she  returned,  "  but  I  am  here, 


63 

and  I  shall  have  time  to  rest.  "Ah-h!"  she  gave  a 
little  start.  "  See  there,  papa,  M.  Dupont  is  talking 
to  M.  Allaire.  I  trust  he  will  not  see  us.'1 

To  Alaine's  relief  M.  Dupont  did  not  discover  her. 
She  kept  a  sharp  eye  out  during  the  period  of  inter 
mission,  when  a  cheerful  chatter  was  kept  up  by 
those  who  visited  around  from  group  to  group.  It 
was  a  great  event,  this  communion  service  on  special 
Sundays,  and  meant  not  only  the  enjoyment  of  free 
worship,  but  a  gathering  of  friends  and  an  exchange 
of  visits  ;  a  day's  pleasuring,  in  fact,  for  they  enjoyed 
it  all,  from  the  hearty  singing  of  the  psalms  and  the 
long  sermon  to  the  arrival  home  after  the  toilsome 
journey. 

"  And  you  will  not  walk  back  ?"  said  Pierre  to 
Alaine,  as  they  were  making  ready  for  the  return. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No  ;  twenty-three  miles  in 
one  day  quite  satisfies  me,  but  I  enjoyed  it  and  the 
pot  a  feu,  honey  and  all." 

"What  do  you  say,  my  daughter?"  Mere  Mi 
chelle's  alert  ears  caught  the  last  words. 

"  Nothing  important,  maman  ;  I  but  discussed  the 
difference  between  the  pot  a  feu  of  those  from 
Rouen  and  those  from  La  Rochelle.  Pierre  there 
likes  to  put  a  sprinkling  of  honey  in  his." 

Mere  Michelle  looked  mystified. 

"  It  is  but  some  of  Alaine's  mischief,"  said  Gerard, 
seeing  the  expression  on  Pierre's  face.  "  Come,  climb 
in,  Alaine;  we  must  be  off."  And  the  long  journey 
home  began. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    CIDER    FROLIC 

"  COME,  come,  step  up,  my  dear,"  Mere  Michelle 
said  so  often,  one  morning  a  few  weeks  later,  that 
Alaine  realized  with  a  start  that  she  was  less  vir 
tuously  energetic  than  usual.  "  So  triste,  my  little 
one,  or  is  it  that  you  are  fatigued  from  yesterday's 
labors  ?  I  feared  that  you  were  going  beyond  your 
strength  out  there  in  the  field." 

"  No,  no,"  protested  Alaine,  "  I  have  seldom  en 
joyed  anything  more.  It  was  so  pleasant  there  out 
under  the  blue  sky,  but  one  has  so  many  things  to 
think  about  as  one  grows  older.  I  will  hasten  to 
finish  my  daily  tasks,  and  then  I  wish  to  see  Mathilde 
Duval." 

Mere  Michelle  looked  at  her  sharply.  "  It  is  not 
well  for  a  lass  to  frequent  the  home  of  a  young 
man,"  she  said. 

Alaine  gave  her  delicate  chin  an  upward  toss. 
"  I  frequent  the  home  of  a  young  man  ?  I  fail  to 
understand  you,  Madame  Mercier." 

"  Ta  ta,  she  has  quite  the  air  of  a  grande  dame, 
she  who  might  now  be  weeping  in  a  nunnery,  or  as 
a  slave,  a  poor  engage,  but  for  her  old  Michelle,  who 
guards  her  but  for  her  own  good,  poor  little  fledg- 
ling." 

64 


THE   CIDER   FROLIC  65 

"  Forgive  me,  Mere  Michelle,1'  cried  Alaine,  stop 
ping  her  occupation  of  burnishing  a  brass  kettle  ;  "  I 
forget  sometimes,  but  indeed  it  was  not  because  of 
Pierre,  nor  of  any  other  man,  that  I  wished  to  see 
Mathilde.  We  both  desire  to  go  to  the  Point  this 
afternoon  to  join  in  the  devotions  and  to  send  a 
prayer  heavenward  for  the  safety  of  our  beloved 
ones." 

Michelle  wiped  a  tear  from  her  eye.  "  Wretched 
old  woman  that  I  am  !"  she  said,  with  a  quick  digres 
sion  from  wrath  to  remorse.  "  I  was  thinking,  Is 
not  Gerard  enough  for  her  that  she  must  run  after 
other  youths  ?" 

"  Gerard  ?  Nay,  but  Gerard  is  my  brother.  You 
forget  that  he  is  a  Mercier  as  well  as  I." 

"  He  is  a  Legrand  as  you  are  a  Hervieu,"  returned 
Mere  Michelle. 

Alaine  shook  her  head.  "  No,  no,  we  do  not  say 
so.  I  pray  you,  Mere  Michelle,  put  any  such  ideas 
away.  Whisper  it  not  to  any  one  that  I  am  a  Her- 
vieu.  But  a  day  or  two  ago  you  warned  me  not  to 
disclose  it." 

"Ah,  well,  I  say  so  to  no  one  outside  this  house." 

"  But  the  birds  of  the  air ;  there  is  one  now 
on  the  bush  outside ;  I  fear  he  will  bear  the 
news." 

Mere  Michelle  turned  her  head  quickly,  and  then, 
at  Alaine 's  merry  laugh,  set  to  work  again  at  paring 
the  vegetables  she  was  making  ready  for  the  dinner. 
"Beware  how  you  go  out  alone,"  she  warned  after 


66  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

a  moment's  silence.  "Louis  says  the  Indians  are 
gathering  to-day  for  their  yearly  cider  fete." 

"That  is  nothing,"  replied  Alaine ;  "they  are 
are  friends.  I  do  not  fear  them." 

"Ah,  that  may  have  been,  but  nothing  is  certain 
since  the  word  has  come  of  intended  war,"  said 
Mere  Michelle,  shaking  her  head.  "  Is  it  not  ex 
pected  that  our  countrymen  from  whom  Ave  have 
providentially  escaped  will  descend  upon  us  from 
Canada?  and  what  may  be  expected  at  their  hands 
should  they  be  joined  by  the  Indians  ?  Affairs  are 
in  a  turmoil.  There  are  grave  rumors  and  it  is  the 
hour's  talk." 

"Ah,  but  Monsieur  Leisler,  maman,  remember 
him ;  he  is  at  the  head  of  the  people  ;  he  stands  for 
the  Protestant  party.  He  has  assembled  the  people 
by  beat  of  drum  and  has  read  to  them  the  proclama 
tion  of  the  English  William  and  Mary.  You  should 
have  heard  Pierre  telling  of  it." 

"Pierre !     And  did  I  not  hear  Gerard  also  tell?" 

"  He  told  not  so  much,  but  he  said  that  M.  Nicholas 
Bayard  and  Mayor  Van  Cortlandt  did  not  uphold  M. 
Leisler.  Then  cried  out  Pierre,  'Me,  I  am  for 
Leisler,1  and  Gerard  looked  dubious.  ;  No  wonder,' 
cried  I,  '  that  Pierre  is  ready  to  put  his  trust  in  one 
who  upholds  Protestant  faith ;  engage  that  he  was, 
he  knows  the  grip  of  the  irons.'  For  a  truth,  maman, 
it  makes  my  heart  bleed  when  Mathilde  tells  me  of 
how  Pierre  endured  that  dreadful  journey  to  Guada- 
loupe,  of  how  he  was  beaten  and  abused  by  the 


THE   CIDER   FROLIC  67 

master  to  whom  he  was  sold,  and  how  it  was  he 
who  planned  the  escape  of  the  party  of  which  she 
became  one.  Poor  Mathilde,  her  sufferings  were 
great,  but  his  were  greater." 

"And  she  adores  Pierre  in  consequence,  of 
course,"  said  Mere  Michelle,  with  a  grimness  unusual 
to  her. 

"Yes,  as  I  adore  Gerard,"  replied  Alaine,  de 
murely.  "  Companions  in  misery,  Pierre  and  Ma 
thilde,  Gerard  and  I.  But  dear  maman,  we  suffered 
little,  for  it  was  the  good  God  who  gave  us  you  and 
Papa  Louis  to  lessen  our  difficulties,  and  we,  though 
refugees,  were  never  slaves." 

"  Since  you  adore  Gerard,"  remarked  Michelle,  "  it 
would  be  well  if  you  were  to  pluck  me  a  leaf  or  two 
from  the  garden  to  season  his  dinner." 

Alaine  needed  no  second  bidding.  Down  between 
the  rows  of  garden  vegetables  she  went.  If  there 
was  anything  in  which  the  Huguenots  excelled  it 
was  in  their  cultivation  of  fruit  and  flowers,  and 
their  gardens  were  miracles  of  luxuriant  growth. 
Soft-hued  peaches  sunned  their  sides  on  southern 
slopes,  grape-vines  showed  here  and  there  a  purple 
cluster,  for  among  his  greatest  treasures  carefully 
brought  from  the  mother  country  the  refugee  con 
sidered  his  slips  of  vines  as  among  the  first.  Seeds, 
too,  brought  from  France  and  carefully  tended, 
brought  a  harvest  of  bloom  along  garden-beds  to 
cheer  with  their  brilliant  colors  the  homesick  emi 
grants.  To  these  Huguenot  refugees,  more  than  to 


68  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

any  other  element,  is  due  the  establishing  of  nur 
series  and  floriculture  in  America. 

Stopping  to  pick  a  leaf  here,  a  sprig  there,  Alaine 
bent  over  the  garden-beds.  From  the  fields  adjoin 
ing  came  the  song  of  the  workers.  The  girl  paused 
a  moment  to  listen,  and  then  ran  back  to  the  house 
to  help  serve  the  dinner  on  broad  wooden  trenchers, 
to  assist  in  the  clearing  away,  and  then  to  make  ready 
for  her  visit  to  Mathilde. 

The  girlish  figure  appeared  before  Michelle  quite 
differently  attired ;  a  half-shamed  look  was  on 
Alaine's  sweet  face. 

"  Voila!"  cried  Michelle  ;  "she  appears  as  if  for  a 
fete  in  her  silk  gown,  her  Lyons  silk,  of  which  she 
has  but  two  remaining.  Perhaps  she  is  bidden  by 
the  red  men  to  their  cider  fete,  is  it  so,  then  ?  And 
a  charming  figure  to  be  in  the  midst  of  howling  sav 
ages  scantily  clothed  and  not  too  clean.  For  why 
is  this  on  a  week-day,  and  no  feast  at  all  that  good 
Christians  should  attend?  Ah-h!"  she  spread  her 
fingers  and  shrugged  her  shoulders,  "it  is  for  M. 
Pierre,  I  doubt  not." 

The  tears  started  to  Alaine's  eyes.  "Mere  Mi 
chelle,"  she  said,  "you  do  me  wrong  all  the  time  of 
late.  You  have  forgotten,  though  I  have  not,  that 
this  is  my  dear  father's  fete-day,  and  I  go  to  Bonne- 
foy's  Point  with  those  who  do  not  lose  their  memory 
of  France ;  there  with  them  I  pray  and  send  my 
psalm  of  longing  across  the  sea.  It  is  all  that  I  can 
do  to  show  my  father  honor,  this,  to  wear  my  best." 


THE   CIDER   FROLIC  69 

Michelle  dropped  on  a  chair  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  apron.  "  Reproach  me  ;  that  will  be  right, 
my  poor  fatherless  one.  I  do  you  wrong,  I  who 
should  cherish  you  and  defend  you  from  unkindness 
and  suspicion.  I  am  to-day,  as  one  would  say,  at 
odds  with  myself.  Petite  £migree,  pauvrette,  fifille, 
I  am  a  stupide.  I  ought  to  have  seen  why  your 
eyes  have  all  day  been  triste  and  your  mouth  so 
wistful.  It  is  not  the  kisses  of  a  husband  for 
which  you  sigh,  but  for  those  of  a  father.  Go, 
then,  star  of  my  life,  and  I  will  add  my  prayers  to 
yours." 

Alaine,  overcome  at  this  humility,  embraced  her 
and  called  her  dear  mamma  and  her  always  beloved 
Michelle,  and  then  she  turned  to  go.  From  under 
her  little  cap  her  soft  brown  hair  peeped,  her  high- 
heeled  shoes  with  their  silver  buckles  clicked  as  she 
walked  across  the  floor,  and  her  gown  swished  softly 
against  the  sides  of  the  door  as  she  passed  out.  It 
was  no  peasant  girl,  but  the  daughter  of  one  well 
born,  who  appeared  that  day  on  the  street  of  New 
Rochelle.  She  walked  quickly  toward  a  solid- 
looking  new  house  and  knocked  at  the  door.  "  En 
ter,"  came  the  word,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment 
Mathilde  appeared. 

"I  knew  it  was  yourself,  my  Alaine,"  she  cried. 
"  I  am  ready  this  quarter-hour.  All  are  gone ; 
Pierre  and  my  uncle  to  the  fields,  my  aunt  to  the 
poor  young  wife  of  Jean  de  Caux ;  she  has  hoped 
and  feared  till  now  the  fear  is  swallowed  up  in  grief, 


70  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

for  she  has  news  that  her  husband  died  on  the 
voyage  from  France.  Wait  here  till  I  again  assure 
myself  that  all  is  well." 

Alaine  stood  waiting  for  her  before  the  fireplace, 
which  was  adorned  with  tiles  showing  forth  the  his 
tory  of  the  prodigal  son,  the  lost  piece  of  silver, 
and  other  Scriptural  incidents.  She  was  absorbed 
in  contemplation  of  the  raising  of  Lazarus  when 
Mathilde  returned. 

"All  is  well,"  she  announced,  briskly.  "Come,  I 
saw  Papa  Renaud  go  by  but  this  instant.  The  poor 
old  one,  he  has  never  missed  a  day  in  going  to  the 
spot  where  he  landed,  to  turn  his  eyes  toward  his 
beloved  France  and  to  lift  up  his  voice  in  prayer  and 
song.  He  is  smitten  with  a  great  home-sickness,  is 
Papa  Renaud.  But  me,  I  never  wish  to  see  France 
again ;  it  holds  too  many  graves.  Ciel !  when  I 
think  of  how  many  of  them,  I  am  affrighted  by  the 
number.11 

Alaine  laid  a  caressing  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "  I 
do  not  wonder,  my  poor  Mathilde ;  one  who  alone 
of  all  her  family  is  left  must  feel  so.  As  for  me,  I 
know  not,  and  so  I  still  long  for  France  if  it  contain 
my  father.  Hark  !  Papa  Renaud  begins  his  psalm." 
They  walked  soberly  to  the  spot  where,  with  head 
uncovered,  stood  the  old  man,  his  arms  outstretched, 
and  his  quavering  voice  chanting, — 

1 '  Estans  assis  aux  rives  aquatiques 
De  Babylon,  plorions  melancholiques." 


71 

Mathilde  and  Alaine  joined  in  softly,  and  then  kneel 
ing  down,  with  wet  eyes,  Alaine  sent  up  a  prayer 
for  her  father. 

She  knelt  so  long  that  Mathilde  at  last  touched 
her  on  the  shoulder.  "  I  must  go  now,"  she  said. 

Alaine  arose.  "  Leave  me  a  little,  then  ;  I  wish  to 
stay  longer."  Mathilde  turned  and  left  her,  and  for 
a  long  time  the  girl  knelt  with  clasped  hands,  her 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  blue  waters  of  the  sound.  So 
long  was  her  gaze  turned  in  one  direction  that  she 
did  not  see  that  at  last  she  was  left  quite  alone  by 
her  friends  and  that  a  pair  of  crafty  eyes  were  watch 
ing  her.  The  sound  of  the  psalm-singing  had  given 
place  to  the  distant  noise  of  the  Indians  in  their 
frolic ;  the  rise  and  fall  of  a  monotonous  chant ; 
bowlings  and  whoopings. 

"Ah,  my  father,"  sighed  the  girl  at  last,  "if  you 
be  on  earth  may  the  good  God  bring  you  safe  to  me." 
She  arose  to  her  feet,  and  with  downcast  head  she 
descended  to  where  a  cave  in  the  rocks  showed  the 
remains  of  charred  wood.  Here  the  arriving  Hu 
guenots,  upon  landing,  had  built  their  first  fire.  The 
place  was  held  as  common  property,  and  the  mood 
that  caused  Alaine  to  take  a  mournful  pleasure  in 
gazing  at  all  which  could  in  any  way  remind  her  of 
her  friends,  her  faith,  her  lost  France,  made  her 
linger  here. 

Suddenly  stealthy  footsteps  crept  up  behind  her ; 
a  pair  of  sinewy  arms  seized  her ;  a  hand  was  clapped 
over  her  mouth,  and  before  she  could  scream  or 


72  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

struggle  she  was  carried  around  a  point  of  rocks 
and  placed  in  a  canoe,  which  was  quickly  pushed 
out  upon  the  dancing  waters  of  the  sound.  In  vain 
she  tried  to  make  some  signal  to  those  on  shore. 
Only  the  dancing,  yelling  Indians  could  see  the  little 
craft  with  one  of  their  own  number  guiding  it  through 
the  water.  Friendly  though  they  might  be,  this  was 
their  cider  frolic,  and  even  if  they  had  been  aware 
of  the  deed,  they  would  have  been  in  no  state  to 
render  assistance. 

Alaine  had  passed  through  too  many  trying  scenes 
to  weakly  give  up  to  tears.  She  lay  very  still  in  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe,  her  large  eyes  fixed  on  the 
Indian's  face.  After  a  short  time  he  loosened  the 
thongs  with  which  he  had  bound  her  and  said, 
"  Little  squaw  not  be  afraid." 

"Where  are  you  taking  me?"  she  asked,  sitting 
up.  He  gave  a  grunt  and  shook  his  head.  That 
question  was  not  to  be  answered. 

"Estans  assis  aux  rives  aquatiques,"  she  began  to 
sing  shrilly. 

Her  captor  frowned  and  bade  her  hush.  "No 
sing."  What  could  she  do?  Where  was  he  taking 
her  ?  She  cudgelled  her  brains  for  a  reason  for  this 
sudden  act,  for  this  seizure  of  her  innocent  self,  but 
could  decide  upon  no  cause  for  it. 

On,  on,  the  little  canoe  sped.  The  dense  forests 
grew  deeper  and  darker  as  the  light  waned.  Alaine 
with  eyes  strained  for  sight  of  a  passing  boat  scarcely 
moved,  but  as  the  sun  began  to  sink  and  to  redden 


THE   CIDER   FROLIC  73 

the  water  she  shivered.  Night  was  coming,  and 
what  would  it  bring  her  ?  Her  thoughts  travelled 
to  her  humble  home  in  the  village.  Now  Gerard 
and  Papa  Louis  were  coming  in  from  the  field ;  now 
Michelle  was  milking;  now  they  were  making  ready 
for  supper,  a  salad,  an  omelette,  maybe.  They 
would  miss  her ;  they  would  fear  that  she  might  be 
drowned,  or  that  something  dreadful  had  happened. 
Something  dreadful  ?  It  had  happened. 

The  light  and  rosy  clouds  were  turning  to  gray 
when  the  boat  at  last  touched  shore.  All  was  as 
silent  as  death.  The  great  sombre  pines  beyond  the 
sands  loomed  up  grimly  against  the  sky ;  a  sea-bird 
once  in  a  while  dipped  its  wing  into  the  waves,  then, 
with  a  cry,  circled  aloft.  The  girl  crouching  in  the 
canoe  did  not  attempt  to  move  even  when  the  In 
dian  drew  the  boat  high  off  the  sands.  He  waited  for 
a  moment,  then  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder  with 
the  word,  "  Come."  She  obediently  arose,  and  he 
helped  her  out  upon  dry  land.  Then  seizing  her 
wrist,  he  strode  up  the  beach  toward  the  woods, 
which  he  entered  by  a  narrow  path.  Beyond,  a 
faint  glimmer  of  light  showed  that  a  clearing  existed 
not  far  off. 

Alaine  gave  a  little  cry  as,  issuing  from  the  dimness 
of  the  forest,  she  saw  before  her  a  substantial  house, 
from  the  windows  of  which  flickering  lights  were 
already  beginning  to  twinkle.  What  was  this,  and 
who  lived  here  ?  For  a  moment  a  sense  of  relief 
stole  over  her.  This  was  no  Indian  camp,  but  the 


74  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

home  of  white  people  ;  all  the  surroundings  indicated 
it.  The  evening  breeze  fluttered  the  vine-leaves 
over  the  small  porch.  Across  this  small  porch  the 
patient  prisoner  was  led,  and  before  a  door  the  In 
dian  paused  for  a  moment.  "  Warraquid  has  come," 
announced  he. 

The  door  flew  open  and  out  stepped,  gay  and 
debonair,  Fran£ois  Dupont.  "  Good-evening,  Made 
moiselle  Hervieu,"  he  said,  with  a  splendid  bow, 
"  I  trust  I  see  you  well.  Your  little  trip  has  in  no 
way  given  you  discomfort,  I  hope.  So  fine  an  even 
ing  as  this  it  should  be  delightful  upon  the  water. 
Permit  me."  He  extended  his  hand,  but  she  proudly 
preceded  him  into  the  room,  the  door  of  which  he 
held  open  for  her. 

It  was  a  pathetic  little  figure  which  stood  before 
the  half-dozen  men  assembled  in  the  great  room; 
her  black  silk  gown  was  stained  by  mud  and  torn  by 
briers,  and  her  little  high-heeled  shoes  were  scratched 
and  rubbed  by  rough  stones,  but  the  pale  face,  usu 
ally  so  sweetly  piquant,  held  a  look  of  noble  resolve, 
though  the  shadows  under  the  dark  eyes  bespoke 
anxiety. 

"This,  gentlemen,"  announced  M.  Dupont,  "is 
Mademoiselle  Hervieu,  whose  presence  here  is  not 
so  much  a  compliment  to  us  as  we  could  wish,  since 
she  was  not  aware  of  her  destination."  The  gentle 
men,  who  had  arisen  when  the  girl  entered,  now 
bowed  low,  and  one  advanced  to  lead  her  to  a  seat. 

"Though  you  visit  us   perforce,  mademoiselle," 


THE   CIDER   FROLIC  75 

said  this  gentleman,  "  we  trust  your  stay  will  not  need 
be  made  a  disagreeable  one.  You  have  but  to  answer 
a  few  questions  and  you  will  be  safely  returned  to 
your  own  home." 

"  And  if  I  cannot  answer  them.1' 

u  If  you  will  not  M.  Dupont  will  tell  you  the  alter 
native,  which,  after  all,  is  not  so  unpleasant  a  one, 
or  should  not  be  to  a  young  and  charming  lady. 
First,  then,  you  are  well  acquainted  with  Pierre 
Boutillier,  Louis  Mercier,  and " 

Alaine  turned  swiftly.  "  I  demand  to  know  the 
alternative  before  I  answer  these  questions.1'  She 
faced  M.  Dupont  imperiously.  "  It  is  true  that  I  am 
here  by  no  choice  of  my  own,  and  my  lips  are 
sealed  unless  I  know  some  good  reason  why  I  should 
speak.  Whatever  is  just  and  right  I  will  answer, 
but  nothing  else." 

Her  interrogator  nodded  in  the  direction  of  M. 
Dupont,  who  said,  "  By  your  favor,  mademoiselle,  we 
will  discuss  this  in  private,  and  to  spare  you  the 
situation  let  me  lead  you  to  the  other  room." 
Again  Alaine  by  a  gesture  refused  his  escort,  and 
walked  out  with  head  carried  high.  In  the  hall  she 
paused  uncertainly,  but  M.  Dupont,  with  a  quick 
movement,  opened  a  door  on  the  opposite  side  and 
ushered  her  into  a  room  sweet  with  newly  gathered 
flowers,  and  silent  but  for  the  steady  tick  of  an  old 
Dutch  clock  which  hung  against  the  wall. 

The  door  shut,  Alaine  again  demanded,  "  The 
alternative." 


76  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  So  short  you  are,  fair  mademoiselle ;  then  short 
must  I  be.  An'  you  answer  not  these  questions  you 
will  be  sent  to  Canada,  placed  in  a  nunnery  there 
till  your  cousin  fitienne  comes  to  claim  you." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  him." 

"  You  remain  in  the  nunnery." 

Alaine  pondered  the  situation  gravely.  "  But 
why  ?  What  good  are  these  questions  ?  Alas  !  why 
do  they  distress  a  forlorn  maid  so  sorely  for  the 
sake  of  such  scant  information  as  she  can  give  ?" 

"  Because — it  is  for  France.  Do  you  not  love 
France,  Alaine  Hervieu,  the  dear  place  of  your 
birth?" 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  then  she  said,  slowly, 
44 1  love  France." 

"  It  is  for  France  you  will  do  this ;  not  for  faith, 
nor  for  freedom,  nor  for  favor,  but  for  France.  She 
is  at  war  with  England,  and  for  her  honor,  her  glory, 
we  would  know  how  stands  this  colony  of  Yorke. 
You  know  as  well  any  other — you  are  not  wanting 
in  wit  and  wisdom  and  experience — that  disaffection 
is  at  work  in  the  colony  ;  that  Leisler  holds  the  fort ; 
that  Nicholas  Bayard  and  Phillipse  and  Van  Cort- 
landt  are  his  enemies ;  at  such  a  time,  when  all  is 
confusion  and  there  is  no  unity  at  home,  it  is  the 
time  for  a  blow  to  be  struck  from  the  outside.  Think 
of  this  as  a  French  colony,  of  the  peace  and  content 
and  glory  for  those  you  love,  for  you  do  love  them 
still,  those  in  your  old  home.  Think  of  being  re 
united  to  your  father,  when  he  shall  occupy  a  place 


THE   CIDER   FROLIC  77 

of  honor  in  this  new  country.  No  longer  a  peasant, 
you ;  no  longer  associating  with  servants,  but  lady 
of  your  own  manor,  an  honored  wife,  a  happy 
daughter.  You  will  do  this  for  France  and  for  your 
father?"  He  spoke  with  rapid  intensity,  his  brilliant 
black  eyes  fixed  on  her  face. 

Alaine  listened  with  parted  lips.  "My  father!" 
she  cried.  "Where  is  he?  Does  he  live?" 

"  He  lives.  I  can  tell  you  no  more.  It  is  not  so 
much  you  are  asked  to  do.  No  one  will  be  the 
wiser ;  no  one  worse  off  than  before." 

The  girl's  heart  beat  fast ;  her  hands  trembled. 
"  Take  me  back.  I  will  answer  as  I  can,  monsieur, 
as  my  conscience  approves."  This  time  she  did  not 
refuse  the  hand  which  led  her  through  the  hall  back 
to  the  room  where  the  others  awaited  her.  She 
approached  with  steady  step  the  table  by  which  her 
questioner  stood.  "  I  am  ready,"  she  said. 

"You  are  well  acquainted  with  Louis  Mercier, 
with  Gerard  Mercier,  his  reputed  son ;  with  Pierre 
Boutillier,  the  reputed  nephew  of  M.  Thauvet?" 
The  question  was  put  without  preliminary. 

"  I  know  them,"  Alaine  answered,  without  hesita 
tion. 

"They  are  friends  and  are  upholders  of  Jacob 
Leisler?" 

"Yes." 

"  They  are  refugees  from  France,  and  have  inter 
ested  themselves  in  raising  soldiers  for  the  defence 
of  New  York?" 


78  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"Yes." 

u  Have  you  ever  heard  them  say  how  many  were 
with  Leisler  in  the  fort  ?" 

Alaine  was  silent. 

"  Or  in  what  condition  are  the  fortifications  ?" 

"No." 

"  They  are  working  upon  them,  so  M.  Dupont  has 
already  told  us ;  so  that  may  pass.  We  must  ask 
of  you  but  one  more  thing.  Write  at  our  dictation 
the  following  words :  '  I  have  been  carried  away  by 
the  Indians,  but  am  now  abandoned  on  the  shore 
close  to  Long  Point.  Come  to  me  as  soon  as  pos 
sible.  I  send  this  by  one  who  refuses  me  escort. — 
Alaine.'  " 

She  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  What  did  this 
mean?  The  questions  had  seemed  trivial  and  out 
of  proportion  to  the  deed  of  kidnapping  her.  She 
was  suspicious,  but  even  her  alert  mind  could  see  no 
danger  in  sending  the  message  which  was  to  restore 
her  to  her  friends,  and  she  acquiesced  without  a 
word  of  protest. 

"Three  separate  notes,  if  you  please.  Address 
them  to  Louis  Mercier,  to  Gerard  Mercier,  to  Pierre 
Boutillier,"  came  the  request.  Alaine  did  as  they 
bade  her,  and  a  nod  of  satisfaction  followed  the 
courteous  thanks  she  received.  "  To-morrow  even 
ing  you  will  be  free,"  she  was  told.  "  Fra^ois, 
summon  some  one  to  wait  upon  mademoiselle  to 
her  room."  And  presently  appeared  an  old  woman, 
French  and  Indian  half-breed,  who  silently  conducted 


THE    CIDER   FROLIC  79 

the  girl  to  an  upper  chamber,  locked  the  door  upon 
her  and  left  her  alone. 

The  room  was  comfortably  furnished ;  there  was 
no  lack  of  order  anywhere  in  the  establishment,  and 
Alaine  wondered  wrho  had  the  ordering  of  it.  No 
discourtesy  had  been  shown  her,  yet  she  felt  dis 
trustful  and  uneasy.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Had  she 
unwittingly  brought  trouble  upon  those  her  best 
protectors?  Upon  Papa  Louis,  under  whose  roof 
she  dwelt,  upon  Gerard  her  almost  brother,  upon 
Pierre  who  had  already  suffered  so  much?  She 
caught  her  breath  as  she  thought  of  this.  Oh,  to 
gain  her  freedom  and  warn  them !  She  leaned  far 
out  the  open  window,  but  the  house  built  with  pro 
jecting  upper  story,  in  the  old  fashion,  gave  no 
means  of  escape  in  that  direction.  She  drew  back 
with  a  sigh.  Night  and  darkness,  and  howling 
wolves,  and  prowling  Indians  confronted  her,  perils 
enough  to  make  a  stouter  heart  quake.  Beyond 
these  terrors,  she  knew  not  where  she  was,  nor  the 
way  home.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  submit 
to  the  inevitable. 

With  a  woman's  heed  to  appearance  she  smoothed 
her  gown,  brushed  from  it  some  of  the  stains  and 
mud,  tucked  her  soft  brown  locks  under  her  cap, 
and  was  standing  looking  ruefully  at  her  scarred 
shoes,  when  the  door  opened  and  the  half-breed 
glided  in.  Alaine  marked  the  greedy  look  in  the 
twinkling  eyes  as  they  fell  upon  the  silver  buckles 
on  her  shoes  and  the  chain  about  her  neck,  but  the 


80  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

eyes  shifted  before  the  girl's  look  of  inquiry,  and  the 
summons  to  supper  reminded  Alaine  that  she  was  in 
reality  very  hungry. 

She  descended  the  stairs,  at  the  foot  of  which 
stood  Frangois  Dupont.  "  I  await  you,  mademoi 
selle.  It  is  a  pity  that  you  must  take  your  meal 
with  none  but  those  of  the  stern  sex,  yet  I  trust 
your  appetite  is  good.  If  you  would  prefer  you  can 
have  your  supper  served  in  your  own  room.  Let 
me  thank  you  for  what  you  have  done  for  France." 

She  smiled  a  little  sadly.  "  I  fear  it  was  not  so 
much  for  France  as  for  my  own  well  liking.  After 
we  have  eaten,  monsieur,  I  would  have  further 
speech  with  you." 

"  To  my  pleasure  ;  but  before  we  join  the  others  let 
me  give  you  a  word  of  warning.  For  me,  I  am  indif 
ferent  as  to  creeds,  I  am  only  for  France,  France 
Protestant  or  France  Catholic,  but  with  these  gentle 
men  here  it  is  different.  I  pray  you  speak  not  in  dis 
favor  of  the  Church.  They  believe  you — but  I  will 
not  anticipate  our  discourse.  Let  me  lead  you  in." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  and  was  led  into  the  long 
dining-room,  where  a  plentiful  meal  was  spread. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER 

ALAINE'S  youthful  appetite  sufficed  to  cause  her  to 
consume  a  good  supper.  The  talk  around  the  table 
was  cheerful,  and  there  were  no  issues  raised.  u  A 
strange  position  for  a  young  French  girl,"  Alaine 
thought,  "in  company  of  these  men,  I  who  all  my 
life  have  taken  refuge  by  the  side  of  my  aunt  or 
Michelle,  and  have  never  even  taken  a  walk  with 
any  man  save  Gerard  or  Papa  Louis,  unless  I  except 
that  one  Sunday  when  I  walked  to  church  with 
Pierre  as  companion.  What  would  my  aunt  say  to 
my  present  situation  ?  Allowed  free  converse  with 
a  young  man  ?  Shocking !"  She  smiled  to  herself  in 
spite  of  the  condition  of  affairs.  The  Indian  woman 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room  during  the  meal,  and 
the  girl  wondered  if  she  were  to  be  again  conducted 
to  her  chamber,  but  she  was  relieved  to  find  that 
this  was  not  intended,  for  the  other  gentlemen,  sit 
ting  over  their  wine,  allowed  Fra^ois  Dupont  to 
lead  her  from  the  room. 

u  I  am  your  guard,  mademoiselle,  therefore  see 
that  you  do  not  overpower  me  and  make  your  es 
cape,1'  he  said,  playfully. 

"Into  what?"  she  asked.  "Into  the  terrors  of 
the  forest?  Into  unknown  ways?  I  am  not  so 

6  81 


82  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

foolhardy,  monsieur.  I  wish  I  might  trust  you,"  she 
added  after  a  pause  in  which  she  had  eyed  him 
wistfully. 

"Have  I  given  you  reason  for  lack  of  confi 
dence  ?" 

"Have  you  not?  Ever  since  your  arrival  you 
have  been  persistently  following  me  up  and  pre 
scribing  my  actions.  For  why  is  this  ?" 

"  Said  I  not  that  I  was  a  friend  of  fitienne  Ville- 
neau?  I  will  tell  you,  mademoiselle,  they  believe 
you  to  have  been  spirited  away  by  your  nurse,  if 
not  by  force,  by  over-persuasion,  and  that  once  you 
are  brought  back  you  will  conform." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  That  will  I  never  do.  I 
am  Protestant  as  my  father  is.  If  I  did  not  accept 
entirely  the  teachings  of  his  faith  before  I  left  France 
it  was  because  I  was  not  sufficiently  informed.  I 
now  know  them  and  accept  them  fully.  I  shall 
never  retract." 

"  But  you  cannot  blame  your  friends  over  there  in 
France  if  they  desire  it." 

"  No,  I  cannot  blame  them,  for  they  do  not  know 
the  truth  of  it :  how  I  begged  to  be  taken  with  Mi 
chelle  when  my  father's  letter  came,  and  how  I  knew 
that  I  would  rather  by  far  suffer  with  her  and  with 
my  father  than  to  live  at  ease  as  the  wife  of  my 
cousin.  No,  they  could  not  know  that,  nor  that  I 
would  never  conform." 

"Not  to  save  your  father?" 

"  From  what  ?" 


FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER  83 

"  From  the  life  of  an  engage"." 

"  He  is  that  ?  My  poor  father !  Ah,  I  was  not 
wrong,  then,  when  I  felt  this  to  be  so.1' 

"  If  he  be  still  alive  you  can  save  him,  and  if  he 
be  not  alive  you  can  still  save  yourself  from  this  life 
of  poverty  and  labor.  It  is  the  wish  of  madame, 
your  aunt,  of  your  cousin  fitienne,  that  you  do  not 
lose  the  property  which  is  yours  while  you  are 
Catholic,  but  which  was  in  danger  of  confiscation 
when  your  father  became  Protestant.  In  view  of 
the  relation  of  the  Villeneaux,  who  are  not  without 
influence  in  high  circles,  the  estates  await  your  re 
turn,  and  once  you  are  Madame  fitienne  Villeneau 
they  are  yours.  Am  I  not  candid,  mademoiselle  ?" 

"  You  are.  I  understand  it  all  but  your  part  in 
the  matter.  I  confess  you  seem  frank,  Monsieur 
Dupont,  but  why  this  extreme  interest  on  your  part  ?" 

"  You  still  doubt  me  ?  Be  it  so."  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  changed  the  subject  by  saying, 
"  'Tis  not  so  bad  a  country  this,  if  one  had  never 
lived  in  France." 

"  It  is  a  very  good  country  in  spite  of  France. 
We  who  are  Emigre's  have  brought  over  our  own 
plants,  have  planted  the  vegetables  familiar  to  us, 
and  are  cultivating  the  vine.  We  have  modelled  our 
homes  upon  those  we  have  left,  and  we  are  not 
strangers." 

"We  who  are  e'migre's,"  he  repeated.  "I  do  not 
accept  the  term  in  the  case  of  yourself.  You  are 
still  a  daughter  of  France,  la  belle  France." 


84  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  Let  us  return  to  our  first  subject.  My  father,  it 
is  of  him  I  think  continually.  To-day  is  his  fete- 
day,  and  for  him  I  dressed  in  my  best  that  I  might 
do  him  honor,  though  he  knows  it  not,  and  for  him 
I  am  become  a  prisoner.  Alas,  I  am  unfortunate  !" 
She  sighed  and  folded  her  hands  resignedly. 

Francis  watched  her  for  some  moments,  his  head 
bent,  his  eyes  taking  in  every  detail  of  the  delicate 
profile,  the  fine  lines  of  the  figure  leaning  against  the 
post  of  the  porch.  "  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  at  last, 
"I  have  another  proposition  to  make.  I  throw  my 
self  at  your  feet.  Escape  you  may.  Your  father, 
too,  shall  be  free  if " 

"  If "  She  turned  quickly  and  leaned  eagerly 

forward.  "  You  mock  me,  monsieur.  What  would 
you  say  ?  If " 

"If  you  will  fly  with  me  to  Canada." 

"With  you?" 

"With  me,  as  my  wife.  Do  you  not  see  that  I 
adore  you?" 

"I  do  not  see  it.  You  scarcely  know  me,  mon 
sieur." 

"  To  know  you  an  hour  is  to  love  you." 

"  And  Etienne,  your  friend  ?  This  is  your  honor 
able  love  for  him." 

"  Did  I  not  first  plead  his  cause,  and  did  you  not 
refuse  to  consider  him  ?  Have  I  placed  myself  first  ? 
Listen,  Alaine  ;  it  is  so  easy.  We  arise  early  ;  we  go 
forth.  I  take  you  to  Canada,  to  the  convent.  When 
you  are  ready  we  are  united.  I  do  not  urge  it  now  ? 


FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER  85 

I  even  make  this  concession  :  one  year  and  you  will 
marry  me.  I  leave  you  with  the  Sisters,  and  at  once 
I  proceed  to  Guadaloupa,  where  I  win  the  release  of 
your  father.  I  buy  his  discharge  and  I  present  him 
to  you  as  my  wedding-present.  Is  it  not  all  so  easy  ? 
We  return  to  France,  to  your  old  home ;  you  leave 
behind  you  but  a  company  of  poor  peasants,  and 
you  return  to  your  own.1' 

"  And  fitienne  ?" 

"  Will  submit  to  the  fate  which  has  given  you  to 
me  rather  than  to  him.  I  will  say,  My  good  friend, 
I  tried  to  induce  mademoiselle  to  consider  you,  but 
since  you  commissioned  me  instead  of  going  your 
self,  you  see  the  result.  Is  it  not  so  easy,  so  beauti 
ful,  this  plan  of  mine?" 

"  But  my  father,  you  forget  as  a  Huguenot  he  can 
not  return  to  France.  How,  then,  shall  I  be  bene 
fited  after  all  ?" 

"  We  can  then  do  this :  we  can  take  up  a  resi 
dence  in  these  colonies.  I  do  not  even  say  that  I 
will  not  in  time  embrace  your  religion." 

Alaine's  heart  was  beating  fast ;  she  had  learned 
one  supreme  fact:  her  father  was  in  Guadaloupa. 
Inside  the  house  the  others  were  playing  cards  with 
many  excited  exclamations  and  much  laughter ;  the 
clink  of  mugs  of  wine,  the  occasional  thump  of  a 
hand  as  it  laid  a  pile  of  jingling  coin  upon  the  table, 
the  stir  of  a  chair  upon  the  bare  floor,  these  sounds 
broke  the  stillness.  Outside  the  insects  kept  up  a 
monotonous  jarring  noise ;  the  damps  of  a  Septem- 


86  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

her  night  began  to  chill  the  air.  Alaine  shivered 
slightly  and  leaned  back  again  against  the  post  of  the 
porch.  Her  father's  life  or  hers,  for  one  does  not 
have  to  die  to  lay  down  a  life  for  a  friend.  At  last 
she  drew  a  long  breath.  "  You  would  take  me  away 
alone  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Marie,  the  half-breed,  shall  attend  you." 

"And  your  plan  is " 

He  leaned  eagerly  forward ;  she  could  feel  his 
warm  breath  against  her  cheek  ;  where  the  light  of 
the  candles  fell  on  his  face  she  could  see  the  intense- 
ness  of  his  eyes.  Her  hands  folded  themselves  in 
a  rigid  clasp  as  she  listened  to  what  he  said  in  his 
low,  rapid  voice  :  "  To-morrow  morning  early,  very 
early,  by  break  of  day,  I  will  have  some  one  unlock 
your  door,  the  one  toward  the  rear  of  the  house. 
Leave  your  room,  follow  the  entry  to  the  back  of  the 
house  ;  at  the  farthest  window  you  will  see  a  ladder ; 
climb  down  and  follow  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the 
wood ;  I  will  be  there  to  meet  you.  We  will  go  to 
the  water's  brink  and  find  the  boat  left  there  last 
night ;  we  have  but  to  pursue  our  way  a  little  far 
ther  and  then  strike  inland,  cross  the  northern  colo 
nies  to  Canada,  and  all  is  well." 

"  But  why  this  great  secrecy  ?  These,  your  friends 
here,  do  they  not  agree  with  your  way  of  settling 
this?" 

"  One  cannot  tell ;  they  are  Frenchmen,  but  they 
are  also  Jesuits ;  they  would  not  agree  to  the  escape 
of  your  father;  they  might  discover  our  intention 


FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER  87 

with  regard  to  him."  He  watched  her  narrowly  to 
sec  the  effect  of  his  words. 

"  Oh,  my  father,"  she  murmured. 

"You  understand;  these  men  are  Frenchmen, 
and  there  is  war  between  France  and  England ; 
there  is  no  need  to  explain  their  mission  here,  nor 
the  reason  of  secrecy  where  they  are  concerned. 
When  they  have  accomplished  their  intention  they 
will  depart ;  we  shall  not  see  them  again,  but  now, 
while  they  are  here,  one  must  be  discreet." 

For  a  long  time  Alaine  sat  with  her  chin  resting  in 
her  two  hands.  At  last  she  spoke :  "  If  I  consent 
to  this,  you  will  permit  me  to  send  a  note  to  Mi 
chelle  and  M.  Mercier  to  explain  that  I  am  safe. 
They  have  been  very  good  to  me,  peasants  though 
you  call  them." 

"  You  shall  certainly  do  so  if  it  be  no  more  than 
a  note,  and  if  it  does  not  compromise  these  your 
present  entertainers.11 

The  girl  arose  to  her  feet.  "  Then,  monsieur,  if 
you  see  me  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  to-morrow 
morning  it  will  be  because  I  consent ;  otherwise  I 
shall  have  no  object  in  going  forth  to  tread  an  un 
known  way.  I  will  retire." 

He  seized  her  hand  and  pressed  a  kiss  upon  it,  and 
Alaine  shuddered.  "  I  will  send  Marie  to  you. 
Good-night,  sweet  Alaine,"  he  murmured. 

Slowly  Alaine  ascended  the  stairs  and  entered  her 
room.  The  sound  of  the  revellers  came  up  from 
below-stairs.  The  girl  knelt  before  the  open  win- 


88  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

dow.  Somewhere  beneath  the  stars  her  father,  a 
wretched  slave,  was  resting.  Conform  ?  She  would 
never  do  that;  perhaps,  after  all,  she  need  not. 
Yet,  the  nunnery,  the  ever-vigilant  watchers,  the 
loss  of  liberty.  Alas !  alas !  there  would  be  worse 
than  all  that.  If  she,  of  her  own  accord,  by  her 
own  efforts,  could  win  her  father's  release,  how  hard 
she  would  work.  She  would  appeal  to  her  friends ; 
perhaps  they  could  help  her.  "  My  father,  iny 
father,"  she  sighed,  "  if  I  but  knew  what  to  do."  She 
leaned  her  forehead  on  the  window-sill,  and  back  to 
her  remembrance  came  those  peaceful  days  at  home 
in  France  before  those  hours  of  terror  threatened 
her ;  then  came  the  recollection  of  the  quiet  dwell 
ing  in  New  Rochelle,  the  good  pious  parents,  the 
simple,  earnest,  happy  ways.  "I  know  now,"  she 
said,  rising.  "  No  one,  not  even  my  father,  would 
have  me  seem  to  renounce  my  faith  for  any  material 
good,  nor  have  me  live  a  lie.  Die  will  I,  and  die 
must  my  father,  but  we  will  not,  we  cannot  be 
treacherous  to  our  friends  nor  our  faith.  This  man, 
what  do  I  know  of  him  ?  How  can  I  tell  what  de 
signs  induce  his  fair  promises  ?  No,  no  ;  I  dare  not 
trust  myself  in  his  hands.  I  do  not  know  much  of 
the  world,  but  I  have  distrusted  him  from  the  first. 
He  may  never  try  to  liberate  my  father  once  he 
wins  me  from  my  friends ;  he  may  be  making  these 
fair  promises  but  as  a  ruse  to  tempt  me  away." 

Marie's  soft  step  aroused  her  from  her  thoughts. 
There  was  an  angry  glitter  in  the  woman's  eyes. 


FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER  89 

"Mario,  Marie,"  cried  Alaine,  pleadingly,  "I  am  a 
lonely,  friendless  girl ;  be  good  to  me  this  night.1' 
Suddenly  she  slipped  the  silver  chain  from  her  neck, 
and,  stooping,  tore  the  buckles  from  her  shoes. 
"See,  see,"  she  whispered,  "I  will  give  you  these 
if  you  will  help  me  to  escape.  I  do  not  want  to  go 
with  Fran§ois  Dupont;  I  do  not  want  to  go  back 
to  France.  Oh,  Marie,  you  are  a  woman,  save 
me." 

The  woman's  brown  fingers  touched  the  silver 
ornaments  caressingly.  "  Marie  like  zis,"  she  said. 
"She  no  like  you  go  wis  Fran£ois  Dupont.  Marie 
sink  you  lof  zis  man,  ees  it  so,  yes  ?" 

"No,  no,  I  love  only  my  own  dear  people,  and  I 
must  go  back  to  them.  Oh,  if  I  could  but  reach 
them  on  the  other  side  of  Long  Point,  could  be  sure 
that  they  and  I  were  safe !  If  I  could  but  get  home 
again  away  from  all  this  !  Marie  !  Marie  !  help  me, 
and  anything  I  have  is  yours." 

The  woman's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  trinkets, 
but  she  raised  them  and  allowed  them  to  travel  up 
and  down  the  girl's  dress,  and  presently  the  brown 
finger  pointed  to  a  silver  clasp  in  the  shape  of  a 
dove  which  fastened  Alaine's  kerchief. 

"That,  too?  Yes,  yes;  you  shall  have  all  if  you 
will  but  help  me  away,  early,  so  early,  before  it  is 
day.  Can  you  ?  Will  you  ?" 

Marie  lifted  the  chain  and  dropped  it  from  one 
hand  to  the  other,  as  she  considered  the  subject. 
After  a  few  moments  she  nodded. 


90  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  I  take  you.  No  Long  Point ;  ozzer  place  where 
is  some  one  will  show  you  ze  way." 

44  Is  it  far  ?  Can  we  walk,  or  do  we  have  to  go 
by  water?" 

"  We  walk.  Early  I  come  for  you.  I  sleep  here. 
Franfois  Dupont  say  meet  him.  I  meet  him.11  She 
nodded  her  head  emphatically.  "  Before  ze  sun,  he 
is  arise,  we  go." 

Comforted  by  this  hope  of  escape  Alaine  fell 
asleep,  to  be  awakened  before  the  first  indications 
of  dawn  had  begun  to  tinge  the  sky.  The  gray 
shadows  were  just  giving  place  to  a  streak  of  light 
in  the  east  when  the  two  women  stole  from  the 
house,  hurried  across  the  wet  grass  and  into  the 
deep  woods.  The  birds  were  chirping  sleepily  in 
their  nests  in  the  trees  above  them,  though  it  was 
still  dark  in  the  forest.  Save  for  a  fox  bounding 
along,  a  rabbit  leaping  from  the  underbrush,  or  a 
mole  scuttling  to  his  mound,  there  were  no  signs  of 
wild  creatures.  A  walk  of  two  or  three  miles 
brought  the  two  women  to  another  clearing.  Here 
Marie  paused  and  pointed  to  a  house  from  the  chim 
ney  of  which  a  wreath  of  blue  smoke  was  beginning 
to  curl.  "  It  is  there  you  find  friend,11  Alaine  was  told 
by  her  companion.  "  I  go  to  meet  Fran£ois  Dupont." 

Alaine  caught  her  hand.  "  Adieu,  Marie !  The 
good  God  bless  you  for  helping  me." 

Marie  held  up  the  chain  with  a  grim  smile.  "  I 
am  well  pay,  man^selle."  Then  she  turned  and 
disappeared  into  the  sombre  shadows  of  the  woods. 


FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER  91 

Across  the  fields  Alaine  took  her  way  and  pre 
sented  herself  before  the  door  of  a  house.  Some 
one  came  clattering  through  the  hall  as  the  girl's 
knock  was  heard, — a  sturdy  Dutchwoman,  who 
gazed  at  this  early  visitor  in  stolid  surprise.  "  May 
I  come  in  ?"  asked  Alaine. 

The  woman  looked  at  the  little  shoes,  damp  with 
the  morning  dew,  and  at  the  draggled  skirts.  Then 
she  came  out,  shut  the  door  behind  her,  and  beck 
oned  Alaine  around  the  corner  of  the  house  to  the 
back  door,  where  she  pointed  to  a  mat  on  the  step 
outside  the  kitchen.  Alaine  understood.  She  gave 
her  shoes  many  rubbings  upon  the  mat  and  stepped 
into  the  kitchen,  warm  from  the  wood-fire  crackling 
upon  the  hearth.  After  a  moment's  gazing  at  the 
girl  the  woman  pattered  off  into  the  house,  and 
came  back  with  a  lady,  who  looked  with  curious  eyes 
at  the  intruder.  u  Who  are  you,  and  where  do  you 
come  from,  my  child  ?"  she  asked.  Alaine  in  her 
broken  English  began  to  stammer  out  her  story. 
The  eyes  of  the  lady  lighted  up  as  the  stranger's 
accent  bespoke  her  nationality,  and  she  rapidly  put 
her  questions  in  French,  and  to  these  Alaine  was 
able  to  reply  clearly.  "Poor  little  one,  a  refugee 
and  a  tool  of  enemies.  Ah,  me,  how  much  wicked 
ness  there  is  in  this  world  !  Come  see  my  husband ; 
he  is  French,  a  Protestant  and  an  emigre,  so  you  may 
consult  together  and,  companions  in  misery,  may 
help  each  other.  We  are  but  guests  here  ourselves, 
but  Annetje,  guessing  your  French  birth,  brought  me 


92  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

to  you.  She  is  not  so  stupid  as  she  looks,  that  good 
Annetje." 

Alaine  followed  her  guide  to  an  inner  room.  Be 
fore  a  window  stood  a  grave-looking  man.  "  Nich 
olas,  I  have  brought  you  a  compatriot,"  said  his 
wife,  "  and,  like  a  good  knight,  you  must  lend  your 
aid  to  a  maiden  in  distress.  This  is  my  husband, 
Nicholas  Bayard,"  she  said,  turning  to  Alaine,  "and 
you  are?" 

"  Alaine  Mercier,  of  the  Huguenot  colony  at  New 
Rochelle.  I  was  carried  away  from  my  home  yes 
terday."  And  she  told  the  details. 

Her  new-found  friends  listened  attentively.  "A 
plot!"  cried  Nicholas  Bayard,  striking  his  hands 
together.  "French  spies,  without  doubt,  those  men. 
Ah,  that  I  had  the  power  to  drag  them  from  their 
retreat !  These  friends  of  yours,  can  you  imagine 
why  these  men  are  trying  to  secure  them  ?" 

Alaine  answered  in  the  negative. 

"  I  can  tell  you.  They  have  been  commissioned 
as  bearers  of  messages  to  certain  points.  They 
were  to  have  started  to-morrow.  Doubtless  these 
men  desire  to  get  them  into  their  hands,  knowing 
they  are  refugees,  and  that  a  threat  to  return  them 
to  France  will  cause  them  to  divulge  all  they  know 
of  the  affairs  of  the  colonies.  They  will  probably 
offer  to  take  them  into  their  service  as  spies,  offering 
them  such  reward  as  they  think  will  be  of  value  to 
them  in  return  for  their  promise  to  act  in  complicity 
with  them.  I  think  that  explains  it.  We  fear  a  de- 


FROM   THE   SNARE   OF   THE   FOWLER     93 

scent  of  the  French  and  Indians,  and  I  feel  quite 
sure  these  men  are  acting  for  the  enemy.  As  for 
me,  I  am  a  friend  of  the  government,  but  not  of 
Jacob  Leisler,  consequently,  as  an  office-holder  under 
James  II.,  I  am  suspected  of  upholding  the  papists. 
Now  you  understand  why  I  am  here  in  hiding. 
You  say  these  messages  to  your  friends  mentioned 
this  evening  as  the  time  to  find  you.  We  must,  then, 
return  you  before  then,  but,  mind  you,  not  a  word 
of  whom  you  have  seen  here.  These  friends  of 
yours  are  all  for  Leisler,  I  suppose.1' 

"Yes,  they  are  Protestant,  you  know." 

"  And  am  I  not  Protestant  ?  Is  not  Van  Cortlandt 
Protestant?  Bah!  'tis  a  poor  excuse  to  gain  the 
encouragement  of  the  people.  He  is  a  vile  upstart 
and  usurper,  that  Leisler.  To  hale  us  out  of  town, 
who  are  the  proper  upholders  of  the  government. 
Yet,  I  suppose  you,  mademoiselle,  also  believe  in 
Leisler." 

Alaine  nodded.     She  was  nothing  if  not  truthful. 

uThen  no  friend  of  mine,"  he  returned,  but  he 
smiled  as  he  spoke.  "Poor  little  dove  with  the 
hawks  after  her,"  he  said,  half  to  himself;  "we 
must  send  her  under  safe  escort  to  her  home. 
Where  is  Lendert,  my  wife  ?" 

"  lie  is  here  and  ready  for  breakfast.  And  will 
be  the  more  ready  when  he  sees  the  guest  we  have," 
Madame  Bayard  said,  smiling  at  Alaine.  "  Our  good 
cousin  Lendert  Verplanck  it  is  of  whom  we  speak. 
Here  he  is.  Your  aunt  will  not  leave  her  bed  this 


94  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

morning,  cousin,  but  we  have  a  guest  you  see, 
Mademoiselle  Mercier,  and  you  may  take  her  out  to 
breakfast." 

The  good-looking  young  Dutchman  was  nothing 
loath  despite  Alaine's  torn  clothes  and  dilapidated 
shoes,  for  it  did  not  need  that  she  should  wear 
dainty  raiment ;  the  graceful  head  and  little  hands 
and  feet  were  not  those  of  a  peasant. 

"Lendert,"  said  his  cousin,  "it  must  be  you  who 
will  see  this  young  lady  to  her  home,  for  I  know 
none  better  to  protect  her  by  the  way." 

"  A  horse  from  the  stable  and  we  are  off  when 
ever  you  say  the  word,  my  cousin,"  he  returned. 
"We  can  cut  across  country  and  be  out  of  the  way 
of  followers,  I  think.  Then  I  will  continue  on  to 
the  city  and  bring  you  news  of  what  goes  on  there. 
I  believe  it  is  not  safe  for  you  to  venture  there  while 
Leisler  holds  the  reins.  It  is  best  you  should  keep 
your  hiding-place  a  secret."  He  glanced  at  Alaine 
as  he  spoke. 

"It  will  never  be  known  through  me,"  she  ven 
tured,  softly,  "  for,  woman  though  I  am,  I  can  keep 
a  secret.  My  days  have  been  too  full  of  trouble  not 
to  know  the  feeling  of  one  hunted."  She  smiled  at 
the  young  man,  who  protested  that  he  had  never 
dreamed  of  distrusting  her. 

"So  lovely  she  is  I  could  wish  the  way  longer," 
he  whispered  to  his  cousin  a  half-hour  later  when 
they  set  off,  Alaine  mounted  on  a  pillion  behind  her 
cavalier.  Her  graceful,  well-knit,  buoyant  figure  was 


FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER  95 

a  strong  contrast  to  his  big  heavy  one,  and  her  sense 
of  humor  of  the  situation  once  or  twice  caused  her 
to  smile  behind  the  broad  back.  Here  was  she 
travelling  through  the  country  with  a  strange  young 
man  whose  rosy  Dutch  face  she  had  never  seen  till 
that  morning.  What  would  Michelle  say,  and  Gerard 
and  Pierre?  Strange  that  she  had  perfect  confi 
dence  in  this  escort,  and  had  not  the  slightest  fear 
of  any  one  or  anything  while  he  was  there.  How 
angry  M.  Dupont  must  be  by  this  time ! 

She  gave  a  little  shiver  at  the  thought,  and  Len- 
dert's  blue  eyes  cast  her  a  glance  over  his  shoulder. 
"Are  you  not  comfortable,  mademoiselle?'1  he 
asked. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  returned,  "but  I  suddenly  thought 
of  where  I  might  now  be  but  for  my  good  fortune 
in  finding  friends." 

He  nodded  in  reply.  He  was  rather  silent,  this 
young  man  of  the  flaxen  locks,  Alaine  considered, 
but  then,  like  Pierre,  he  might  be  of  a  thoughtful 
inclination.  He  was  at  least  a  good  listener,  for 
although  Alaine  did  not  understand  Dutch,  and  his 
knowledge  of  French  was  evidently  slight,  they  both 
knew  enough  English  to  make  themselves  under 
stood,  and  Alaine  noticed  that  mynheer  could  always 
supply  the  word  over  which  she  hesitated,  if  not  in 
English  then  in  his  familiar  Dutch.  So  that  a  good 
understanding  between  them  was  reached  before 
they  had  compassed  half  their  journey. 

But  it  must  be  said  that  in  following  the  bridle- 


96  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

path  through  the  dense  forest  Alaine  felt  somewhat 
less  assured.  She  stopped  her  eager  chatter,  and 
her  arm  around  the  waist  of  Lendert  crept  closer. 
At  this  he  turned  and  smiled  at  her  with  a  reassuring 
expression  of  sympathy.  "You  are  all  safe,"  he 
told  her. 

She  gave  him  a  smile  in  return.  "  I  know,  but 
the  forests  are  so  still,  so  deep,  so  interminable,  one 
fancies,  one  dreams,  one  almost  fears  that  something 
terrifying  may  be  lurking  in  the  unknown  beyond." 
Through  the  leaves  patches  of  sunlight  flickered 
down  upon  them ;  across  their  pathway  a  squirrel 
leaped  ;  birds  at  their  approach  started  from  the 
branches  overhead  and,  with  sudden  cries,  darted 
deeper  into  the  dim  recesses. 

"I  know  the  way  well,"  Lendert  told  her.  "I 
travel  here  frequently.  Half-way  we  are.  There  is 
a  long  straight  path  ahead  ;  you  can  see  where  the 
sunlight  comes  through  the  trees  all  the  way." 

It  was,  as  he  said,  a  path  of  sunlight  ahead  of 
them,  checkered,  indeed,  by  leaf  shadows,  but  much 
brighter  than  the  surrounding  woods.  As  they  ad 
vanced  something  was  discerned  moving  toward 
them  rapidly.  Presently  their  eyes  discovered  it  to 
be  a  horseman  urging  his  steed  to  its  utmost.  Len 
dert  glanced  at  his  pistols,  gathered  his  bridle  more 
firmly  in  his  hand,  cast  a  reassuring  glance  at  Alaine, 
and  continued  his  way  with  seeming  placid  uncon 
cern.  "  He  journeys  fast,"  he  remarked.  "A  mes 
senger  express,  I  take  it."  As  they  drew  within 


FROM  THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER  97 

closer  range  he  called  out,  "  What,  ho,  my  friend  ? 
What  is  the  news  you  ride  so  fast  with  ?" 

But  Alaine  gave  a  little  scream  of  dismay  and  hid 
her  face  behind  Lendert's  broad  shoulder.  She  had 
caught  sight  of  the  wrathful  countenance  of  Fran£ois 
Dupont. 


CHAPTER    VI 

FOR    LIFE    OR    DEATH 

AT  the  sound  of  Alaine's  cry  Lendert  set  spurs  to 
his  horse  and  made  a  dash  past  the  on-coming  rider, 
but  there  came  a  report  of  a  pistol ;  his  hold  upon 
the  bridle  loosened ;  he  reeled  slightly  in  his  saddle  : 
the  horse  made  a  plunge  forward,  then  stopped 
short,  and  in  an  instant  Francois  was  alongside. 

"You  thought  to"  escape  me,  my  falconet,"  he 
cried,  "but  I  have  the  jesses  ready.  You  do  not 
leave  my  wrist  again.  By  St.  Maclovius,  I  was  in 
luck  to  have  crossed  your  path  when  I  was  on  my 
way  to  your  hiding-place." 

He  seized  her  waist  and  attempted  to  drag  her 
from  her  seat,  but  she  clung  to  Lendert,  down  whose 
cheek  the  blood  was  running. 

"Mynheer  Verplanck,"  she  cried,  "do  not  die! 
Do  not  leave  me  to  the  mercy  of  this  man  !"  And 
she  beat  off  with  her  fists  the  hands  of  the  man 
whose  hold  was  tightening  upon  her. 

For  a  second  Lendert  looked  around  in  a  dazed 
way,  then  his  stunned  senses  returned,  and  he  gave 
the  horse  a  cut  which  caused  him  to  spring  forward, 
and  the  suddenness  of  the  movement  dragged  Fran- 
gois  from  his  saddle,  but  he  clung  to  Alaine's  pillion, 
and,  cat-like,  scrambled  up  behind  her.  "  I  also 

98 


FOR   LIFE   OR   DEATH  99 

go,"  he  said.  "  To  quote  your  favorite  Scripture, 
mademoiselle,  '  Whither  thou  goest  I  will  go.' ' 

Lendert  lashed  at  him  furiously  with  his  whip,  at 
which  Frar^ois  gave  a  low  mocking  laugh.  "  I  ad 
vise  you  not  to  attempt  that,  monsieur,"  he  said ; 
"  you  might  also  strike  Mademoiselle  Hervieu.  So 
closely  are  we  united,  she  and  I,  that  what  touches 
one  touches  the  other.  Is  it  not  so,  Mademoiselle 
Hervieu?" 

She  made  him  no  answer,  but  tried  to  shrink 
away  from  his  close  embrace,  and  leaning  forward, 
asked,  in  a  low  voice,  "Are  you  hurt,  Monsieur 
Verplanck  ?" 

"  But  slightly,"  he  whispered  back. 

Alaine  made  a  little  exclamation,  for  at  this  in 
stant  Frangois  whipped  out  his  knife  to  cut  the  belt 
into  which  Lendert's  pistols  were  thrust.  These  fell 
with  a  clatter  to  the  ground.  In  one  moment  their 
owner  had  pulled  in  his  horse,  but  to  dismount 
meant  to  leave  Alaine  in  the  hands  of  her  enemy, 
and  he  but  gave  note  to  the  spot  and  rode  on. 

"We  ride,"  cried  Frangois,  "to  the  devil,  maybe, 
though  I  fancy  your  horse  may  grow  weary  if  the 
journey  be  long.  I  am  not  of  a  great  weight  my 
self,  but  monsieur  there  is  not  too  light,  and  three 
of  us."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Yet,  I  do 
not  alight  while  mademoiselle  rides,"  he  continued. 

Lendert  gave  a  slow,  sleepy  look  over  his  shoulder. 
"The  mosquito  is  sometimes  bad  in  the  woods,"  he 
remarked,  confidentially,  to  Alaine.  "  After  a  while 


100  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

we  are  able  to  rid  ourselves  of  the  pest."  And  he 
turned  his  horse  around. 

"Ah-h!"  cried  Frangois,  "I  see  your  manoeuvre, 
monsieur,"  and  with  the  quickness  of  a  monkey  he 
unloosed  Alaine's  hands  from  the  hold  and  leaped 
with  her  to  the  ground,  crying,  "  Ride  on,  monsieur, 
you  are  well  rid  of  the  pest,  eh?  He  will  satiate 
himself  first,  this  mosquito."  And  again  a  pistol- 
shot  rang  out. 

"Poltroon!  villain!"  cried  Alaine.  "You  shoot 
a  man  when  his  back  is  turned." 

"  I  use  the  means  the  good  God  gives  me,  made 
moiselle.  I  kill  to  defend  myself,  and  who  would 
not?  I  kill  even  you,  yes,  rather  than  that  other 
there  possess  you." 

The  pistol-shot  had  wounded  Lendert  in  the 
shoulder,  but  he  rode  back  over  the  ground  at  a 
gallop,  was  down  from  his  horse  in  an  instant,  and 
picking  up  his  own  pistols  from  where  they  had 
fallen,  he  levelled  one  at  Frangois. 

But  without  hesitation  Frangois  thrust  Alaine  in 
front  of  him,  crying,  "This  is  a  fashion  of  defence 
employed  in  some  of  your  colonies,  I  hear.  One 
Monsieur  Bacon  has  adopted  the  measure  in  Vir 
ginia,  and  I  follow  this  excellent  American  custom, 
good  Sir  Avoirdupois.  Elephants  are  clumsy  crea 
tures,  and  the  nimble  mouse  can  sometimes  get  the 
better  of  the  large  beast  of  the  long  nose." 

Lendert  advanced  steadily  upon  him,  but,  holding 
Alaine  still  as  a  shield,  Frangois  sprang  behind  a 


FOR    LIFE   OR   DEATH  101 

tree.  u  A  game,  a  merry  game  in  the  wildwood," 
he  cried.  "  Catch  who  can.  Advance,  monsieur ; 
there  are  trees  enough  to  enable  us  to  keep  up  our 
pastime  for  many  hours,  and  to  resume  it  to-morrow, 
if  we  like.  Yet,  I  fancy,  Monsieur  Le  Gros,  you  will 
have  lost  the  taste  for  sport  by  that  time,  judging 
from  the  amount  of  bloodletting  I  have  caused  you. 
Ah-h,  mademoiselle,  the  toil  in  the  fields  has  given 
you  a  peasant's  strength,  yet  it  is  not  worth  while  to 
attempt  escape  ;  I  am  the  stronger,  you  see."  For 
Alaine  had  tried,  by  a  quick  jerk,  to  extricate  herself. 

For  two  or  three  moments  Lendert  stood  silently 
looking  at  them,  then  he  gazed  around  him  with  a 
puzzled  expression  on  his  quiet  heavy  face. 

"He  is  at  a  loss,  that  Monsieur  Le  Grand,"  Fran- 
£ois  whispered,  leaning  forward  and  saying  the  words 
close  to  Alaine's  ear.  "  He  will  presently  leave  us, 
since  he  does  not  care  to  have  the  sport  prolonged. 
Did  you  think,  Alaine,  that  I  did  not  know  the  way 
to  win  a  secret  from  Marie  ?  Fool  that  she  is,  to  be 
dazzled  by  a  few  paltry  trinkets.  I  repeat,  I  am 
seldom  at  a  loss,  and  she  will  do  better  the  next 
time.  You  will  not  have  a  more  vigilant  guardian 
than  Marie  when  she  receives  you  into  her  keeping 
this  evening.  And  to-morrow  we  commence  our 
journey  to  Canada." 

The  horses  had  wandered  away  some  little  dis 
tance,  and  were  cropping  the  grass  along  the  path. 
Toward  first  one  and  then  the  other  Lendert  ad 
vanced,  slipped  their  bridles  over  their  heads,  and 


102  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

led  them  some  little  distance,  where  he  fastened 
them.  He  next  took  off  the  deer-skin  hunting-jacket 
which  he  wore  and  sat  down  upon  the  ground. 
Alaine  saw  that  there  was  a  deep  red  stain  coloring 
the  white  shirt  underneath.  She  watched  him  with 
fascinated  eyes.  What  was  he  about  to  do  ?  From 
his  pocket  he  took  his  sharp  hunting-knife,  and,  strip 
by  strip,  painfully  and  laboriously,  he  cut  thongs 
from  the  deer-skin  garment.  It  must  be  a  painful 
operation,  Alaine  considered,  for  even  the  slightest 
movement  of  the  wounded  shoulder  must  give  a 
pang. 

"  Monsieur  Le  Gros  Cochon  amuses  himself,"  said 
Fran9ois.  "  I  could  compassionate  him  upon  his 
lack  of  freedom  of  movement;  I,  too,  can  use  but 
one  arm,  hampered  as  I  am  by  the  possession  of  this 
Naomi,  to  whom  I  have  pledged  myself,  '  Whither 
thou  goest  I  will  go.' ' 

"  There  is  at  least  one  place  where  monsieur  can 
not  accompany  me,"  remarked  Alaine,  in  cutting 
tones,  and  speaking  for  the  first  time  to  her  captor. 

"And  where  is  that,  my  Mara,  so  bitter?" 

"To  heaven,"  Alaine  retorted. 

Fran£ois  laughed.  "  Some  would  say  otherwise, 
mademoiselle.  I  fancy  those  from  whom  you  have 
parted  company  in  la  belle  France  would  consign 
you  to  a  more  fiery  abode,  and  since  you  refuse  to 
conform,  I  may  perhaps  not  be  misunderstood  if  I 
employ  any  means  which  will  still  allow  me  to  ac 
company  you  even  to  an  uncomfortable  place.  But 


FOR    LIFE   OR   DEATH  103 

we  will  discuss  this  later.  There  will  be  time 
enough.  At  present  I  am  rather  curious  to  discover 
our  large  friend's  intention.  It  seems  the  work  of  an 
imbecile  to  cut  one's  clothes  to  pieces,  wanting  some 
thing  else  to  do.  Perchance  he  wishes  to  take  me 
off  my  guard  and  seeks  to  mislead  me  by  playing 
the  fool,  so  that  I  will  release  you,  but  I  hold  you 
fast,  do  I  not,  my  falconet?" 

Lendert  arose  to  his  feet.  His  ruddy  countenance 
was  growing  strangely  white ;  his  flaxen  hair  was 
dappled  with  blood  and  his  shirt  was  stiffened  by 
the  same,  but  in  his  blue  eyes  there  was  the  steady 
look  of  obstinate  resolve. 

"  I  think  we  may  attempt  to  run  now,  mademoi 
selle,"  said  Fran£ois.  "  He  cannot  follow  very  fast 
nor  very  long.  I  regret  that  I  cannot  spare  time 
from  my  devoted  attention  to  you  to  reload  my 
pistols.  I  may  need  them." 

"  You  will  not  find  yourself  very  light  of  foot  with 
a  dead  weight  to  drag  behind  you,1'  vouchsafed 
Alaine. 

"  But  if  I  lead  the  chase,  Monsieur  Le  Cochon 
Hollandais  cannot  keep  up  the  pace  for  very  long ; 
he  bleeds  freely,  the  stuck  pig.  See,  I  start."  He 
pushed  the  girl  behind  him,  clasped  her  arms  around 
his  waist,  and,  holding  her  hands  in  front  of  him, 
set  off  on  a  run. 

But  Alaine,  as  she  felt  his  left  hand  fumble  for  his 
pistols,  let  herself  drop  to  her  knees. 

At   this    instant   there    came  a  singing,   whirring 


104  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

sound ;  a  slender  leather  rope  whizzed  through  the 
air  and  fell  about  them,  tightening  around  the  man's 
shoulders  with  a  jerk.  He  was  brought  to  a  stand 
still  ;  then  as  the  thongs  enclosed  him  more  securely 
his  arms  were  forced  back  by  the  strain,  and  the  girl 
saw  her  opportunity.  A  short  struggle  and  she  was 
able  to  make  her  escape.  She  rushed  breathlessly 
toward  Lendert.  u  Monsieur  Verplanck,  I  will  help 
you,"  she  cried. 

Frangois  bowed  himself  and  fiercely  tore  at  the 
slender  deer-skin  thongs,  and  at  last,  running  back 
ward,  was  able  to  slacken  the  cord  and  to  wriggle 
himself  out  of  its  hold.  A  moment  more  and  his 
pistol  was  ready  in  his  hand.  Alaine  foresaw  his 
intention,  and  before  he  could  fire  she  sprang  before 
her  deliverer,  who  had  sunk  upon  his  knees  and  was 
leaning  heavily  against  a  tree,  all  his  strength  gone 
from  this  last  effort.  "  Monsieur,"  cried  the  girl,  "  it 
is  an  American  custom,  you  say,  to  use  a  woman  as 
a  shield.  Monsieur  Verplanck  has  proved  that  it  is 
false,  and  that  it  is  but  the  makeshift  of  a  coward. 
Yet,  because  you  have  shown  me  how  powerful  a 
shield  a  woman  can  be,  I  stand  here."  She  gave  a 
quick  glance  at  the  fainting  figure  before  which  she 
stood ;  then  she  lifted  her  head  high  and  faced  Fran 
gois.  "  I  defy  you,  monsieur,"  she  said. 

He  rushed  at  her  blind  with  rage.  "  I  will  kill 
you  before  you  shall  escape  me !"  he  cried. 

"  Kill  me  if  you  will.  I  have  warned  you  that 
where  I  go  you  cannot  follow.  Do  you  think  me  so 


FOR   LIFE   OR   DEATH  105 

great  a  coward  as  to  be  afraid  to  die  ?"  she  asked, 
with  a  mocking  look  in  her  great  eyes.  "  Death 
comes  to  all,  and  what  matter  when  or  where? 
Shall  I  be  worse  off  in  that  other  world  because  you 
choose  to  be  the  means  of  sending  me  there  before 
God  wills  it  so  ?  Or  shall  you  be  better  off  here 
when  I  am  gone,  and  after,  when  you  go  to  face 
God's  judgment  of  you?  Take  my  life?  You  can 
not  ;  it  is  God's,  who  gave  it,  and  it  is  for  the  life 
eternal.  Kill  me  if  you  will ;  you  lose  all  if  you  do 
and  I  gain  everything." 

Twice  he  lifted  his  pistol ;  twice  it  dropped  to  his 
side.  "  I  will  wait  till  your  friend  is  dead,"  he  said 
at  last,  in  sinister  tones.  "  'Twill  not  be  long.  I 
will  wait,  mademoiselle.  It  is  sometimes  better  to 
endure  patiently,  say  you  Huguenots,  therefore  I 
follow  your  example.  A  dead  man  needs  no  shield, 
and,  also,  can  tell  no  tales." 

Alaine  cast  a  frightened  glance  at  the  drooping 
figure  behind  her.  "  Monsieur  Verplanck,"  she  cried, 
in  dread,  "if  I  but  dared  to  turn  my  back,  but 
yonder  wretch  has  no  conscience,  and  he  would 
finish  the  work  he  has  begun.  I  must  keep  my  face 
toward  him  to  watch  him,  but  I  will  try  to  stanch 
your  wound."  She  took  the  kerchief  from  her 
neck,  and  without  exposing  him  to  the  possible  at 
tack  from  Fra^ois,  managed  to  twist  a  tourniquet 
above  the  place  which  bled  the  most  freely,  after 
which  she  arose  to  her  feet,  and  stood  again  defiant, 
determined.  The  eyes  of  her  enemy  were  bent 


106  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

fixedly  upon  her.  She  closed  her  own  and  began  to 
sing  one  of  the  familiar  psalms. 

"  Aux  paroles  que  je  veux  dire, 
Plaise  toi  1'oreille  prester: 
Et  a  cognoistre  t'arrester, 
Pourquoi,  mon  coeur,  pense  et  soupire, 
Souverain  Sire," 

rang  out  the  plaintive  voice  in  the  still  forest. 
"Sovereign  Sire"  came  the  echo.  Was  it  an  echo? 
Alaine's  dark  eyes  grew  more  intense  as  she  listened. 
Faintly  upon  the  air  came  the  second  stanza  of  the 
psalm, — 

' '  Enten  a  la  voix  tres  ardente, 
De  ma  clameur,  mon  Dieu,  mon  Roy, 
Veu  que  tant  seulement  a  toi 
Ma  supplication  presente 
J'offre  et  presente." 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  voice,  and  with  all  her 
heart  in  her  singing  Alaine  continued,  but  before  she 
had  finished  the  third  stanza  the  song  ended  sud 
denly,  and  her  glad  cry  was,  u  Pierre  !  Here,  Pierre, 
mon  ami !  Praise  to  the  good  God,  thou  art  come  !" 
Then  from  the  greenwood  strode  Pierre  Boutillier, 
who  stopped  in  amazement  at  the  sight  of  Alaine 
standing  guard  over  a  prostrate  man,  while  the  form 
of  Francois  Dupont  retreated  down  the  path  into 
the  forest  beyond. 

"  Pierre,  Pierre,  hasten  !     I  dare  not  move.     Se- 


FOR   LIFE   OR   DEATH  107 

cure  yonder  man."  Alaine's  trembling  finger  pointed 
to  Francois. 

Pierre  rushed  forward.  Frangois  raised  his  pistol 
and  half  turned  in  his  flight,  but  before  he  was  able 
to  fire  he  stumbled  and  fell  forward  on  his  face. 

"  God  have  mercy  !"  cried  Alaine.  "  Pierre,  have 
you  killed  him?" 

He  stooped  and  turned  over  the  body  of  the  man 
at  his  feet.  "  No,  he  lives.  It  was  his  own  pistol 
gave  the  hurt ;  it  went  off  as  his  foot  struck  the  root 
of  this  tree  where  he  fell." 

"  God  have  mercy !"  again  whispered  Alaine. 
"Then,  Pierre,  we  have  two  of  them  wounded. 
And  how  did  you  find  me  ?  And  is  this  not  a  ter 
rible  thing,  all  this  ?  Have  you  some  spirits  ?  Mon 
sieur  Verplanck  has  fainted.  Is  it  not  strange  that  I 
am  not  dead?  I  thought  my  last  hour  had  come. 
And  you,  Pierre,  you  are  not  hurt?" 

He  assured  her  that  he  was  untouched,  and  then 
busied  himself  in  ministering  to  Lendert  while  Alaine 
poured  forth  her  story. 

"We  have  been  scouring  the  woods,"  Pierre  told 
her,  "and  I  took  this  direction,  and  when  I  heard 
your  voice  I  knew  the  good  God  had  put  my  feet 
upon  the  right  path.  Gerard  is  not  far  away.  I 
think  I  can  summon  him.  We  were  to  meet  at  the 
end  of  this  path  when  the  sun  was  noon  high. 
There,  your  friend  is  recovering ;  he  opens  his  eyes." 

"You  are  better,  monsieur,"  said  Alaine,  softly, 
kneeling  down  by  him.  "  Now,  pray  you,  Pierre, 


108  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

see  to  that  other  unfortunate.  One  would  not  have 
the  blood  even  of  an  enemy  upon  his  head ;  but, 
Pierre,  I  advise  you  to  secure  him  that  he  does  not 
move.  He  is  possessed  of  the  very  evil  one  for 
strategy.  Yet  he  spared  me,"  she  murmured.  "If 
you  find  you  can  restore  him,  go  you  and  find 
Gerard,  and  I  will  wait  here.  I  am  no  longer  afraid." 
She  raised  her  lovely  eyes  to  his,  and  Pierre  with  a 
swift  movement  caught  her  hands. 

"I  thought  you  dead,  Alaine,"  he  said,  brokenly. 
"I  thought  I  should  see  you  nevermore  in  this 
world." 

Lendert  lay  watching  them.  He  stirred  slightly, 
and  Alaine  with  a  soft  flush  on  her  cheek  bent  over 
him  solicitously.  "We  are  safe,"  she  told  him. 
"My  good  friend  Pierre  Boutillier,  who  has  been 
out  with  a  search-party  looking  for  me,  has  arrived 
and  goes  for  succor." 

"And  the  Frenchman?"  said  Lendert,  feebly. 

"  He  is  wounded  sorely  by  a  shot  from  his  own 
pistol.  He  is  not  able  to  move,  and  can  do  no  one 
harm  for  some  time  to  come.  We  will  take  you  to 
our  home  and  nurse  you  well,  monsieur."  She 
nodded  brightly  as  he  shook  his  head.  "  'Tis  no 
more  than  our  right,  since  you  were  hurt  in  my  ser 
vice.  But  for  me  you  might  now  be  safe  and  un 
hurt.  Will  you  not  allow  me  to  pay  my  debt? 
Mere  Michelle  is  a  famous  nurse,  and  can  make  you 
strengthening  soups  such  as  you  never  ate,  and  will 
have  you  up  and  about  in  no  time.  I  think  you  will 


FOR   LIFE   OR   DEATH  109 

allow  it  is  best,  M.  Verplanck.  Besides,"  she  lowered 
her  voice,  "  it  would  not  do  to  let  it  be  known  that 
Monsieur  Bayard  abides  so  near.  I  would  not  bring 

trouble  upon  him  and  madame,  his  wife,  and  so 

No,  no,  it  is  not  that  Pierre  and  Gerard  and  Papa 
Louis  would  try  to  do  evil  to  one  who  had  befriended 
me,  but  it  might  be  inconvenient  for  them  to  know 
where  hides  Monsieur  Bayard.  Is  it  not  so  ?  You 
agree?" 

"  I  agree,"  he  answered ;  "  though  I  do  not  wish 
to  give  you  the  trouble  of  nursing  me." 

Alaine  had  cut  away  the  sleeve  and  was  carefully 
examining  the  wound.  "  It  is  not  severe,  I  think. 
You  will  not  be  very  long  an  invalid.  The  loss  of 
blood  has  weakened  you.  I  ought  to  go  to  yonder 
man  now." 

Lendert  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"  He  is  my  enemy,  yes,  but  one  ought  to  do  good 
to  one's  enemy,"  she  said,  simply.  "  I  will  first  bind 
up  your  wound  with  these  bandages  steeped  in  the 
wine  which  Pierre  has  brought,  and  you  will  feel 
better." 

But  she  was  spared  the  necessity  of  giving  at 
tention  to  Fra^ois,  for  Pierre  and  Gerard  were  soon 
with  him.  Alaine  threw  herself  into  Gerard's  arms. 
"My  brother,"  she  cried,  "lam  here!  Is  it  not 
wonderful  that  I  am  here  ?  And  you  have  been  all 
night  seeking  me.  I  am  thankful  that  you  have 
found  me ;  you  do  not  know  how  thankful  I  am 
that  Pierre  came  at  that  moment.  You  did  not  re- 


110  BECAUSE   OF  CONSCIENCE 

ceive  my  message,  for  you  have  not  been  at  home, 
and  for  that  I  am  also  thankful.  All  is  well,  very 
well,  save  that  M.  Verplanck  is  suffering  for  his  de 
fence  of  me.  As  for  that  other,  he  is  punished  for 
his  wickedness.  M.  Verplanck  does  not  deserve 
punishment,  and  yet  he  has  it." 

"We  all  deserve  punishment,1'  said  Pierre,  sol 
emnly. 

"  That  may  be,"  returned  Alaine,  "  but  for  me,  I  do 
not  wish  to  say  why  one  should  suffer  for  his  good 
deeds.  No  doubt  the  good  God  knows,  but  still  I 
say  if  M.  Verplanck  suffers  it  may  be  for  his  good, 
but  not  because  he  deserves  punishment.  For  what 
should  he,  Pierre,  when  he  has  but  defended 
me?" 

Pierre  shook  his  head.     "  I  cannot  say,  Alaine." 

uAnd  you,  Gerard,  is  it  punishment,  think  you?" 

Gerard  laughed.  "  To  stop  here  in  the  forest  to 
discuss  a  theological  question  when  two  suffering 
men  are  to  be  removed  to  a  more  comfortable  place 
seems  unnecessary.  If  you  and  Pierre  must  debate 
let  it  be  on  the  way  home.  If  your  friend  there  can 
ride  let  him  mount  his  horse,  and  I  will  take  the 
other  steed  and  bear  the  more  injured  one  upon  it. 
You  and  Pierre  can  walk,  unless  Pierre  would  prefer 
to  be  guard  for  M.  Dupont." 

But  here  Lendert  interposed.  "  Why  cannot  Mile. 
Mercier  travel  with  me  the  same  as  before,  on  my 
horse  ?" 

Alaine  looked  at  Lendert  and  then  at  Pierre.     "  I 


FOR    LIFE    OR    DEATH  111 

will  walk  till  I  am  tired,"  she  gave  her  decision, 
"and  then,  M.  Verplanck,  I  will  ride." 

The  tedious  journey  came  to  an  end  when  the 
little  hamlet  of  New  Rochelle  was  reached  that  after 
noon.  Papa  Louis  was  overtaken  before  they  had 
come  to  the  edge  of  the  Avoods.  "  A  pretty  plot  for 
a  romance,"  he  exclaimed,  after  clasping  Alaine  and 
kissing  her  on  each  cheek ;  "  a  lost  ward  returning 
with  four  attendant  knights,  and  some  of  them 
wounded  in  the  fray?  Who  are  these,  my  daugh 
ter?" 

"These,  Papa  Louis?  Ah,  it  is  a  long  story!  I 
will  walk  with  you  and  tell  you  my  romance,  as  you 
call  it;  a  strange  one,  indeed.  Captured  by  Indians, 
rescued  by  yonder  gentleman,  wrested  from  him  by 
the  other,  so  sorely  hurt.  Am  I  not  the  heroine  of 
a  romance  ?  Yet  it  has  been  a  sad  time  for  me,  and 
I  would  rather  the  humdrum  of  every  day  so  I  be 
safe  with  you  and  Mere  Michelle." 

"And  for  what  was  it  all?"  asked  Papa  Louis, 
knitting  his  brows  as  Alaine  went  into  the  particulars 
of  her  experience. 

"That  I  cannot  altogether  tell.  I  half  doubt  M. 
Dupont's  words,  though  he  acts  the  distracted  lover, 
he  who  has  seen  me  but  two  or  three  times." 

Papa  Louis  shook  his  head.  "  It  will  be  for  Mi 
chelle  to  unravel  it.  She  is  very  acute,  is  my 
Michelle,  and  though  she  has  not  the  learning  from 
books,  she  has  a  penetration  unexcelled.  She  is 
distracted,  the  poor  one  ;  she  one  moment  thinks  you 


112  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

destroyed  by  wolves,  the  next  drowned  in  the  waters 
of  the  sound,  and  again  she  declares  you  have  been 
carried  away  by  savages.  She  has  not  slept,  neither 
has  she  eaten  a  mouthful.  As  for  the  neighbors, 
they  have  sent  out  search-parties  in  all  directions. 
The  news  of  your  return  must  be  given  and  the 
signal-fire  lighted." 

And,  indeed,  there  was  a  great  running  to  doors 
and  windows  and  a  great  bustle  in  the  street  when 
the  little  procession  wended  its  way  through  the  vil 
lage.  Mere  Michelle,  weeping,  fell  on  Alaine's  neck. 
"  She  that  was  lost  is  found  !  Helas  !  my  Alainette, 
how  I  have  grieved  for  thee !  On  my  knees  all 
night,  save  when  I  watched  from  the  window,  prying 
into  the  darkness  for  a  torch-light  which  might  tell  of 
your  safe  return."  But  here  the  good  woman's  atten 
tion  was  distracted  by  the  sight  of  the  two  patients. 
Gerard  and  Pierre  bore  the  unconscious  Francois 
into  the  house  and  laid  him  on  one  of  the  beds,  and 
Papa  Louis  assisted  Lendert  with  much  show  of 
concern.  Lendert  protested,  but  was  made  to  occupy 
the  other  bed,  and  this  strange  situation  brought  a 
grim  smile  to  Pierre's  lips. 

Michelle,  running  from  one  to  the  other,  directing, 
exclaiming,  rejoicing,  grieving,  had  her  hands  full. 
"  Heat  me  a  kettle  of  water,  Louis.  Ah,  mon  coeur, 
but  he  is  badly  hurt,  this  wicked  one.  Thank 
heaven !  you  escaped,  my  Alaine.  Yet  see  your 
best  silk  gown,  a  rag,  a  fringe,  and  your  buckles 
gone  from  your  shoes,  which  are  fit  only  for  burning, 


FOR    LIFE   OR   DEATH  113 

so  skinned  and  torn  are  they,  and. where  will  you 
get  another  pair?  Alas!  you  come  back  poorer 
than  you  went.  A  stoup  of  wine,  Gerard,  for  this 
gentleman  grows  faint.  He  is  of  good  stuff,  for  he 
has  not  flinched,  and  his  shoulder  must  be  very 
painful.  Steep  the  bandages  well,  Gerard.  Art 
better,  monsieur?  There,  I  think  we  must  keep 
you  very  quiet.  The  other  is  of  no  weight.  I  could 
lift  him  myself,  but  he  is  the  color  of  wax.  He  is 
not  fit  to  die,  the  miserable,  and  we  must  save  him 
for  God  kno\vs  what,  yet  we  cannot  let  even  an 
enemy  go  directly  to  burn  in  hell,  as  he  surely 
would." 

The  eyes  of  the  sufferer  opened  slowly ;  they  caught 
sight  of  Alaine.  "  Whither  thou  goest,"  the  white 
lips  murmured,  and  Alaine,  bravely  as  she  had  en 
dured  everything  else,  now  burst  into  tears,  and 
sobbed  inconsolably  upon  Papa  Louis's  shoulder. 


CHAPTER    VII 

WHITHER    THOU    GOEST 

"Dm  I  not  say  that  I  was  not  to  be  shaken  off?" 
were  the  first  words  that  greeted  Alaine  as  she 
passed  by  the  bed  of  Frangois  Dupont  the  next 
morning.  "  A  charming  situation,  this  ;  I  could  not 
have  played  my  cards  better.  For  what  else  but 
this  sorry  wound  could  have  made  me  an  inmate  of 
your  household  ?  lam  here — pouf!  and  you  can 
not  move  me  or  I  die.  I  am  lucky,  by  St.  Michael." 
The  triumphant  look  in  his  eyes  for  an  instant  made 
Alaine  pause,  a  retort  upon  her  lips,  but  she  passed 
on  without  a  word.  "  Water !  A  draught  of  water ; 
I  am  so  parched !"  cried  Frangois. 

Alaine  looked  around.  Mere  Michelle  was  pre 
paring  a  broth  and  was  giving  all  her  attention  to  it. 
Gerard  and  Papa  Louis  were  not  within-doors. 

"A  cup  of  water,  Alaine,"  said  Michelle,  withou 
taking  her  eyes  from  the  bubbling  mess  over  which 
she  stood.  "  Give  him  a  fresh  drink  from  the  well. 
I  am  at  a  most  critical  point  with  this,  and  I  dare 
not  leave.  Hasten  back,  for  my  hands  are  full. 
We  shall  have  help  later  in  the  day." 

Silently  Alaine  took  her  cup  to  the  well,  in  her 
heart  protesting  at  having  to  do  this  service.  u  A 
wicked  girl  am  I  who  am  not  willing  to  obey  my 

114 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  115 

Bible,  which  says,  '  If  thine  enemy  hunger,  feed 
him  ;  if  he  thirst,  give  him  drink.'  Helpless  though 
he  be,  I  still  fear  M.  Dupont.  I  could,  an1  it  were 
not  wicked,  I  could  wish  he  were  never  to  leave  his 
bed."  She  caught  sight  of  Pierre  across  the  street, 
and  she  called,  "  Pierre,  Pierre  !" 

He  came  toward  her  gladly,  a  smile  curving  his 
grave  lips.  "  Take  this  cup  and  give  a  drink  to  M. 
Dupont,"  she  said.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  be  the  bearer. 
I  will  not  cheat  him  out  of  the  water,  but  I  will 
cheat  him  out  of  my  service  of  it.  Do  not  look  so 
judicial,  my  friend.  He  is  mine  enemy,  yet  am  I 
not  sufficiently  complaisant  in  sending  him  the  water 
by  such  a  good  messenger  as  yourself?  Carry  it  to 
him,  good  Pierre.  How  is  Mathilde  ?  And  will  all 
the  village  flock  to  behold  me  this  morning  ?  There, 
take  in  the  cup,  and  tell  Mere  Michelle  that  I  have 
gone  to  speak  to  Papa  Louis,  and  that  I  will  return 
in  a  moment." 

Pierre  took  the  cup  without  protest  and  entered 
the  house.  "  Wait  there  till  I  come  back,"  Alaine 
called  after  him,  and  then  she  disappeared  into  the 
garden. 

The  melancholy  face  of  the  young  Huguenot  bent 
over  the  pillow  of  Fra^ois.  "I  bring  you  water," 
he  said. 

Francois  opened  his  eyes.  "So  I  am  not  to  be 
favored  by  grace  from  my  lady's  hand.  I  will  win 
it  yet,  and  would  win  it  the  sooner  were  it  not  for 
yonder  lubberly  piece  of  flesh  which  sleeps  so 


116  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

soundly  in  his  bed.  By  my  faith,  he  did  not  stir 
when  the  demoiselle  herself  entered.  I  am  a  rack 
of  pain  and  parching  with  fever,  yet  she  bestows  not 
a  glance  of  compassion  upon  me,  while  she  tiptoes 
past  yonder  Sir  Mount-of-Flesh  as  he  were  a  sleep 
ing  infant.  I  owe  you  small  thanks  for  your  part 
in  this  pain  I  bear,  but  I  am  under  obligation  to  you, 
monsieur,  for  the  good  turn  you  have  unwittingly 
done  rne  in  causing  me  to  be  in  a  condition  to  be 
brought  here  perforce,  and  I  thank  you  for  the  cool 
ing  draught  of  water." 

"Monsieur,  you  talk  too  much,"  came  from  Mi 
chelle.  "  I  cannot  answer  for  your  recovery  if,  with 
a  fever  upon  you,  you  chatter  like  a  magpie." 

"  I  will  subside  when  I  am  ready,"  said  Fra^ois, 
"good  Michelle,  who,  I  remember  well,  has  scolded 
me  before  in  those  old  days  in  France,  when  Etienne 
Villeneau  and  I  robbed  her  currant-bushes." 

"  Tchut,  monsieur !  you  vagarize.  You  are  wan 
dering.  I  pray  you  compose  yourself.  Look  yonder 
at  M.  Verplanck ;  he  has  the  docility  of  a  lamb.  I 
say,  '  Sleep  ;'  he  sleeps.  I  say,  '  Eat ;'  he  eats.  I 
say,  4  Drink  this,'  and  he  swallows  my  mess  however 
nauseous.  He  will  recover,  that  lamb." 

"And  I  will  not?" 

"  You  will  be  longer  at  it,  monsieur." 

"Then  I  converse.  I  address  myself  to  you,  if 
you  are  here ;  to  Monsieur  Lamb,  be  he  asleep  or 
awake  ;  to  the  wall ;  the  fire." 

Mere  Michelle    turned    her  back  upon   him  and 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  117 

beckoned  Pierre  to  the  window.  "  'Tis  about  Alaine 
I  wish  to  speak,"  she  began,  in  a  low  tone.  "  This 
will  be  upon  the  tongues  of  all,  and  monsieur  there 
is  too  ready  of  speech.  We  must  not  let  the  whole 
story  be  known.  We  shall  say  that  Alaine  was 
captured  by  the  Indians,  who  in  their  drunken  frolic 
did  not  know  what  they  were  doing,  but  coming  to 
their  senses  abandoned  her  and  she  was  rescued  by 
M.  Verplanck ;  that  you  came  upon  them  returning 
here ;  that  M.  Dupont  was  found  wounded  in  the 
wood,  and  you  brought  him  also.  This  is  all  strictly 
true,  Pierre ;  a  good  Huguenot  cannot  lie,  yet  we 
must  shield  Alaine.  You  must  say,  Pierre,  that  our 
patients  are  too  ill  to  receive  company,  and  so  will 
we  keep  off  the  curious  ones.  You  agree,  Pierre?" 

"  I  agree.1' 

"Then  tell  Alaine  that  I  wish  her  here.  Coeur 
de  mon  cceur,  but  I  fear  to  have  her  out  of  my 
sight."  She  turned  back  toward  the  fire  as  Pierre 
closed  the  door  and  went  out. 

"  I  detest  you,  monsieur,  I  am  ready  to  confess ; 
I  detest  you.  To  yon  funeral-faced  Huguenot  I  am 
grateful  because,  though  I  would  have  fired  at  him, 
it  was  to  secure  my  liberty,  and  he  understands  ;  but 
as  for  you,  Monsieur  Ox,  Monsieur  Beef,  I  detest  you, 
sleeping  there  like  a  log."  Francois  rambled  on. 
"  No,  Michelle,  I  will  not  be  still.  I  am  entertaining 
to  myself,  and  I  talk.  I  will  drink  your  well  dry,  but 
I  will  take  none  of  your  herbs,  nor  your  nauseous 
potions.  I  shall  not  die  because  I  will  to  live.  I 


118  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

am  of  a  strong  will,  Madame  Mercier,  who  was 
Michelle  Assire  back  there  in  France,  and  I  do  not 
mean  to  die  just  yet.  A  drink  of  water  when  I  ask 
it,  and  you  are  free  to  pour  your  messes  down  yon 
der  bumpkin's  throat.  I  confess  I  would  heal  the 
sooner  were  he  elsewhere,  for  I  detest  him,  that 
Monsieur  Blubber-fat." 

"  For  shame,  monsieur,"  Michelle  chid  him  gravely. 
"  You  have  done  much  more  to  offend  than  has  M. 
Verplanck,  and  you  must  not  call  him  such  names 
here  in  my  house." 

"You  cannot  help  it,  Michelle,  for  you  do  not 
desire  to  pitch  me  out  of  doors  and  have  my  life  on 
your  conscience.  Besides,  he  cannot  speak  French, 
and  it  amuses  me  to  call  him  names.  Ho,  there, 
Ox !  Wake  up." 

Michelle,  distressed,  hurried  to  Lendert's  bedside. 

"  His  brain  wanders,  good  sir.  I  pray  you  do  not 
mind  him,"  she  said,  in  anxious  explanation. 

Lendert  smiled  and  turned  his  head.  "  Ho  there, 
Mosquito !"  he  said,  sleepily.  "  I  thought  I  heard 
you  buzz  some  time  ago." 

Michelle  looked  helplessly  from  one  to  the  other. 
"  You  see  he  does  understand  more  than  you  think. 
I  shall  have  to  separate  you,  gentlemen,  if  you  are 
bound  to  carry  on  your  differences  here  side  by 
side." 

And  true  enough,  Frangois  found  his  defiance 
went  for  little,  for,  with  Gerard's  help,  Michelle 
screened  him  in,  and  he  was  not  allowed  the  diver- 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  119 

sion  of  watching  what  went  on  outside  the  counter 
panes  which  served  as  partitions  to  shut  off  his  bed 
from  the  rest  of  the  room.  His  chatter  sometimes 
sank  into  a  murmur,  but  he  talked  incessantly,  while 
Lendert  lay  docility  itself. 

u  She  is  distraught,  is  Mere  Michelle,"  Alaine  told 
Pierre  that  same  afternoon,  "so  distraught  that  I  do 
not  dare  tell  her  the  news  of  my  father,  nor  what  I 
intend  to  do  when  these  two  are  well.  I  cannot 
leave  her  now,  it  would  be  too  cruel,  but  I  intend  to 
rescue  him,  Pierre.  I  have  told  no  one,  not  even 
Gerard,  nor  Papa  Louis,  what  I  mean  to  do." 

Pierre  looked  down  at  her  concernedly.  "And 
what  is  it,  Alaine  ?" 

"  I  mean  to  go  to  Guadaloupa.  Surely  they  will 
accept  me  in  my  father's  stead,  one  as  young  and 
strong  as  I." 

He  gave  a  smothered  groan.  "  You  know  not  of 
what  you  speak,  Alaine.  Once  there  you  and  he 
would  both  be  restrained.  You  cannot,  must  not 
attempt  it." 

The  tears  gathered  in  Alaine's  eyes.  "  But  my 
father,  I  cannot  let  him  remain  bound  when  I  go 
free.  They  will  take  me,  Pierre.  You  surely  do 
not  think  they  would  not  do  it." 

His  eyes  had  a  far-off  look  in  them  as  she  went 
on.  "  You  have  been  so  peaceful,  so  happy  here," 
he  said. 

"  I  cannot  be  happy  now ;  I  can  never  be  happy 
while  he  is  there.  I  should  be  content,  I  would 


120  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

serve  joyfully,  if  he  were  free.  All  my  life  there 
will  be  that  misery  at  my  heart  if  he  dies  an  engage 
and  I  make  no  effort  to  free  him." 

"What  is  your  plan?"  Pierre  asked  after  a 
silence. 

"  I  thought  to  go  to  Manhatte  to  find  a  ship  sail 
ing  for  the  islands  and  touching  at  Guadaloupa.  I 
have  a  little  money,  and  I  could  earn  more.  I 
would  sell  anything  I  possess  to  add  to  the  sum  to 
pay  my  passage,  and  once  there  I  would  find  my 
father's  master.  Oh,  Pierre, — his  master!  You 
know  what  that  means,  for  you  have  escaped  from 
one.  I  would  say,  Here  am  I,  young,  strong,  and 
willing ;  take  me  and  let  my  father  go." 

Pierre  shook  his  head.  u  That  cannot  be.  You 
would  never  accomplish  it,  Alaine,  but  I  will  con 
sider  what  is  to  be  done,  and  we  will  speak  of  it 
again.  Now  I  must  warn  you  to  be  cautious  how 
you  tell  of  your  experience.  Not  even  to  Mathilde 
must  you  tell  all." 

"  I  know.  Mere  Michelle  has  advised  me.  And 
I,  also,  warn  you,  Pierre.  The  three  notes  which 
came  while  you  were  off  in  the  woods  looking  for 
me,  I  wrote  them,  yes,  you  know  that,  but  those  who 
bade  me  do  so  are  spies ;  therefore  beware,  if  you 
must  go  on  any  mission.  You  might  be  captured, 
and  it  would  be  best  to  take  some  other  route  than 
that  you  intended.  This  Francois  Dupont  may  be  a 
spy  for  all  we  know,  and  you  must  be  very  wary 
of  him." 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  121 

"And  M.  Verplanck,  is  he  also  an  enemy?" 

Alaine  looked  down.  "  I  do  not  know,  Pierre. 
I  do  not  think  he  is." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  How  did  you  encounter 
him  ?  I  have  not  yet  been  informed  of  the  whole 
matter." 

"  I  was  directed  to  his  aunt's  house  by  the  woman 
Marie,  and  there  I  met  him." 

u  You  saw  his  aunt  ?"  Pierre  looked  down  at  the 
girl's  drooping  head. 

She  hesitates  a  moment.  "  No,  I  did  not  see  her. 
She  was  ill  of  a  migraine.  I  saw  another  lady ;  her 
cousin." 

"  And  who  was  she  ?" 

Alaine  was  silent. 

"Did  you  see  any  other?" 

"Yes,  the  Dutchwoman  who  rules  the  kitchen." 

"And  no  one  else?" 

Alaine  gave  her  head  a  toss.  "  You  question  too 
closely,  Monsieur  Pierre ;  beyond  your  right,  and 
beyond  what  I  choose  to  answer."  She  dimpled 
and  smiled  as  she  looked  up  into  his  grave  face. 
"  Mere  Michelle  wrarned  me  of  speaking  too  minutely 
of  my  experiences.  I  take  her  advice."  She  walked 
away.  Pierre  followed  her  a  few  steps. 

"Alaine,  Alainette,"  he  called,  softly. 

She  paused  under  the  shadows  of  the  trees.  He 
came  close  and  said,  slowly,  "  I  have  not  the  right 
to  question  you,  Alaine,  but  I  love  you,  Alaine.  I 
love  you." 


122  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

She  sighed  and  glanced  at  him  from  under  her 
long  lashes.  "  Papa  Louis  and  Mere  Michelle  have 
designed  to  marry  me  to  Gerard." 

"And  Gerard?'1 

"  Loves  Mathilde  better." 

"Mathilde?" 

"Yes  ;  and  you,  do  you  not  love  Mathilde?" 

"  I  love  her,  yes,  as  one  does  a  sister ;  not  as  I  do 
you,  Alaine." 

"  As  I  love  Gerard  and  as  he  loves  me,  no  doubt. 
But  one  must  be  guided  by  one's  parents." 

"  And  your  parents  ;  one  is  in  heaven,  the  other 
in  Guadaloupa,  as  you  have  told  me.  Therefore, 
Alaine " 

"  Therefore  I  have  no  one  to  whom  I  can  refer 
you  except  Papa  Louis  and  Mere  Michelle." 

"And  yourself,  Alaine?  Ah,  if  you  but  knew 
how  anguished  I  was  at  your  disappearance ;  if  you 
knew  how  I  have  thought  of  you,  of  you  only  since 
that  blessed  Sunday  when  you  walked  to  church." 

"  And  not  before  ?" 

"  Before  ?  Yes,  ever  since  your  little  face  like  a 
star  came  to  illumine  my  sky." 

Alaine  put  her  head  bird- wise  to  one  side.  "  You 
are  a  poet  ?  I  never  knew  that.  You  are  so  solemn, 
as  an  owl,  Pierre.  We  should  quarrel,  yes,  about 
those  questions  of  theology.  I  am  light-minded ; 
when  I  have  thrown  aside  a  sorrow  you  do  not 
know  how  I  make  merry  over  little  things,  and  that 
would  seem  childish  and  unbecoming  to  you." 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  123 

"  You  are  not  really  that,  Alaine.  You  are  full  of 
courage  and  dignity,  yet  you  are  also  like  the  birds 
who  sing.  Ah,  my  soul,  when  I  heard  your  voice 
in  the  woods  singing  'Aux  paroles  que  je  veux 
dire,'  I  thought  I  should  expire  with  joy." 

"  Poor  Pierre  !  I  do  not  know,  my  friend  ;  I,  too, 
was  overjoyed  at  sight  of  you,  but — no,  no,  not  so 
near — I  do  not  know,  I  cannot  tell  whether  it  was 
because  of  its  being  Pierre  Boutillier  or  whether  it 
was  because  it  was  a  deliverer.  And  then,  Pierre, — 
this  is  my  real  reason, — as  I  have  told  you,  I  must 
release  my  father  before  I  can  consider  a  marriage 
with  any  one." 

"  And  if  I  could — if  I  should  release  him  you 
would — Alaine,  you  would  marry  me  ?" 

u  I  can  make  no  promise.  I  would  then  marry 
him  of  whom  my  father  should  say,  This  is  he 
whom  I  wish  for  my  son.  But  if  there  is  no  way, 
no  way,  Pierre,  save  that  I  spoke  of  to  you,  I  must 
go.  You  will  learn  about  a  ship  for  me  ?" 

"  I  will  do  that." 

"Soon?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  can.  There  are  things  I  must  do 
first.  I  have  to  go  away  on  a  mission,  Alain- 
ette." 

"For  whom?" 

"  For  Governor  Leisler.  When  I  return  I  will  see 
you,  and  then " 

"  And  then  ?  Why  do  you  look  so  miserable, 
Pierre  ?" 


124  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  Because  I  love  you.  You  do  not  know  how  I 
love  you,  my  Alainette." 

44  Not  yours,  nor  any  one's,  but  my  father's." 
"Whom  you  shall  see  again  if  he  be  alive." 
44  Mere  Michelle  is  calling  me  ;  I  must  go." 
"  You  will  let  me  say  good-by  to  you  here." 
44  Yes  ;  but  it  need  not  be  a  long  farewell  I  hope." 
44  He  caught  her  hands  and  pressed  fervent  kisses 
upon  them.    u  God  bless  thee,  now  and  forever,"  he 
murmured. 

44  He  is  so  good,  that  Pierre,"  thought  Alaine,  as 
she  walked  slowly  toward  the  house.  u  Ciel !  who 
would  dream  that  he  could  say  such  things,  he  is  so 
grave  and  solemn,  my  owl  Pierre.  I  am  very  fond 
of  him,  I  confess,  but  a  maid  has  many  minds,  and 
now  I  have  begun  to  fancy  that  blue  eyes,  sleepy 
blue  eyes, — no,  not  always  sleepy, — but  honest  blue 
eyes,  may  be  more  charming  than  black  or  brown. 
Black  I  like  not ;  no,  I  like  them  not.  I  fear  it  will 
be,  Adieu,  Pierre ;  yet  if  you  bring  my  father  to  me 
I  keep  my  promise,  good  Pierre.  I  am  very  foolish ; 
a  maid  should  not  let  her  fancy  rove  when  her 
parents  have  made  a  choice  for  her." 

44  Alaine,  Alaine !"  called  a  voice  from  the  garden. 
44  Yes,   yes,   Gerard,    I   come.     Here   I  am,"  she 
answered. 

The  young  man  waiting  for  Alaine  at  the  edge  of 
the  garden  was  gazing  over  field  and  orchard.  The 
young  trees  but  a  year  ago  planted  gave  promise  of 
thriving  well,  and  of  supplying  luscious  peaches  or 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  125 

bouncing  apples.  The  treasured  vines,  so  carefully 
guarded  in  their  transport  from  France,  had  grown 
sufficiently  to  twist  their  slender  tendrils  around  the 
trellis  built  for  them.  In  the  garden-beds  flourished 
endive,  chicory,  and  those  garden-stuffs  dear  to  the 
French  palate.  Beyond  the  enclosure  stretched  fields 
of  maize  yellow  for  the  harvest. 

"  It  is  a  quiet,  pleasant  little  home,  Alaine,"  said 
Gerard ;  "  we  owe  it  to  Mere  Michelle  and  Papa 
Louis  that  it  is  ours,  is  it  not  so  ?" 

She  came  over  to  his  side  and  leaned  against  the 
fence.  "We  owe  them  much,  Gerard.1' 

"And  because  they  have  sacrificed  themselves  for 
us  we  should  not  show  ourselves  ungrateful." 

"You  have  worked  with  a  good  will,  Gerard,  side 
by  side  with  Papa  Louis  in  the  garden,  and,  ciel ! 
how  many  miles  you  must  have  walked  in  planting 
and  tending  the  maize  in  the  fields  !" 

"And  you,  Alaine,  how  your  little  hands  have 
spun  and  scoured  and  toiled !  You  were  not  meant 
to  do  such  things,  my  sister.1' 

"  Nor  were  you,  my  brother." 

"  Nor  was  Papa  Louis  meant  to  be  a  tiller  of  the 
ground.  All  of  us  save  Mere  Michelle  have  stepped 
out  of  the  world  in  which  our  fathers  lived.  It  was 
for  us,  I  am  sure,  Alaine,  that  Papa  Louis  married. 
It  was  for  me  that  he  fled  from  France  and  became 
an  emigre  here  in  America.  I  well  remember  that 
flight  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  the  sound  of  the 
dragonnade.  Papa  Louis  could  have  gone  alone  more 


126  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

easily,  but  he  took  me,  who  had  not  always  been  the 
most  diligent  of  pupils." 

"  And  Mere  Michelle  could  have  escaped  without 
me,  but  burden  herself  she  would.  And  when  I 
was  ill,  how  she  tended  me  on  that  long  voyage  over, 
and  before  that  and  since  !" 

"  And  myself  the  same.  She  is  a  good  nurse,  a 
good  wife,  a  good  mother,  that  Mere  Michelle." 

"And  Papa  Louis  always  so  cheerful,  so  gay,  and 
never  willing  to  admit  failure.  So  ready  to  help 
with  his  little  strength.  He  has  been  very  good  to 
us,  a  giant  in  love  and  faithfulness." 

"  And  therefore,  Alaine." 

"  Therefore " 

"  We  should  please  them,  those  two,  by  acceding 
to  their  wishes." 

"  We  should  do  that,  Gerard,  yet " 

"  You  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

"  They  would  have  us  marry  and  succeed  to  the 
little  farm  they  have  begun  to  love  so  dearly,  and 
where  they  hope  to  pass  the  rest  of  their  days. 
They  would  have  us  to  dwell  here  with  them,  to 
cherish  them  in  their  old  age  ;  and  have  they  not  a 
right  to  expect  that  we  will  regard  their  wishes  ?" 

"Yes  ;  but,  Gerard,  I  have  made  a  promise." 

"  Alaine  !     Without  consulting  them  ?" 

"  I  was  obliged  to  ;  it  was  to  Pierre.  I  promised 
him  that  I  would  marry  whom  my  own  father  should 
desire.  He  may  be  alive,  Gerard,  and  I  am  nursing 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  127 

a  little  hope  that  he  will  return  to  me.  Pierre  is 
arranging  a  plan." 

"  But  there  is  Mathilde." 

"What  of  her?" 

"  Her  uncle  and  aunt  wish  to  see  her  married  to 
Pierre." 

Alaine's  eyes  danced  and  she  laughed.  "  And 
you,  Gerard,  you  would  be  delighted  if  it  were 
arranged,  I  am  sure.'1 

He  laughed  too.  "  I  see,  then,  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done  at  once.  What  is  it  that  Pierre  purposes 
doing?  What  is  this  plan  of  which  you  speak?" 

Alaine  shook  her  head.  "  Say  nothing  of  it, 
Gerard.  Leave  it  for  a  time.  I  fear  it  may  be  that 
my  father  no  longer  lives,  yet  I  heard  of  him  in 
Guadaloupa." 

"  And  you  love  this  sober  Pierre  ?" 

"  I  think  he  is  very  good,  and  if  my  father  should 
say,  Alaine,  marry  him,  I  should  obey.  It  is  he  I 
should  consider  first,  is  it  not,  Gerard  ?" 

"Of  course.     And  if  he  does  not  say  this?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what." 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait  and  see. 
We  are  young,  Alaine,  my  sister,  and  we  are  very 
happy  here  in  this  little  village." 

"  Yes,  I  am,  or  I  would  be  if  I  could  know  my 
father  were  well  and  safe.  You,  Gerard,  would  be 
happy  if  it  were  Mathilde  whom  you  were  to  bring 
home.  I  understand,  my  brother,  that  it  would  not 
be  so  hard  to  marry  Alaine  if  Mathilde  were  prom- 


128  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

ised  to  another,  but  she  is  not,  you  see,  and  there 
fore  I  think  we  will  say  no  more  on  the  subject  at 
present.  I  do  not  wish  to  do  wrong  to  Papa  Louis 
and  Mere  Michelle,  but  we  can  wait.  Yet  I  am 
afraid  of  yonder  man  who  lies  ill  at  home,  and  I 
think  so  is  Mere  Michelle." 

"Not  M.  Verplanck;  the  other,  you  mean." 

"  The  other  who  swears  that  whither  I  go  he  will 
follow.  And  there  is  also  fitienne." 

"Myself,  Pierre,  M.  Dupont,  and  ^tienne."  Ge 
rard  counted  on  his  fingers.  "  How  many  more, 
Alaine  ?  Shall  we  add  M.  Verplanck  ?" 

She  blushed  and  looked  down,  but  laughed. 
"  You  tease  me,  Gerard.  I  will  tell  you  how  it  is. 
Of  them  all  it  is  Pierre  alone  who  loves  me.  fitienne, 
maybe,  has  a  pride  in  uniting  the  estates,  for  I  be 
lieve  if  I  were  to  return  it  would  be  that  they  need 
not  be  confiscated,  so  Michelle  says.  He  also  hates 
the  Protestants,  and  thinks  if  he  could  win  me  back 
it  would  be  a  great  achievement.  He  loves  me  in 
a  way,  but  only  to  the  advantage  of  himself.  He 
desires  to  rule,  to  have  his  way,  and  he  cannot  bear 
that  a  girl  should  prevent  that.  You,  yourself, 
Gerard,  are  my  brother,  my  dearly  loved  brother; 
that  is  enough.  M.  Dupont  I  cannot  understand ; 
he  professes  to  adore  me,  yet  there  is  something 
behind  it  all.  I  do  not  understand,  I  only  fear." 

Gerard  took  her  hand  and  stroked  it  softly.  "  Do 
not  be  afraid,  little  sister.  You  have  left  out  M. 
Verplanck,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 


WHITHER   THOU   GOEST  129 

"  M.  Vcrplanck  but  performed  a  knightly  deed  in 
escorting  me,  a  lost  maiden,  to  her  home ;  he  de 
fended  me  as  he  would  any  other  in  distress.  He 
will  return  to  his  family  when  he  has  recovered,  and 
that  will  be  the  end  of  that.  One  thing  troubles  me, 
Gerard :  wrhy  did  those  men  seek  to  lure  you  to  a 
certain  spot  through  me  ?" 

"  They  are  French  spies,  we  think,  and  seek  to 
learn  something  to  their  advantage  through  the  emis 
saries  sent  out  to  the  various  villages  and  settlements. 
We  uphold  Jacob  Leisler,  the  friend  of  the  people, 
the  upholder  of  a  Protestant  king.  We  have  the 
confidence  of  those  who  believe  in  him  rather  than 
in  those  aristocrats,  Bayard  and  Van  Cortlandt  and 
Phillipse.  There  is  much  that  you  do  not  under 
stand,  my  sister,  and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  but  that 
we  have  enemies  nearer  home  than  France,  enemies 
who  would  work  the  ruin  of  any  belonging  to  our 
party." 

"  And  you  will  not  go  with  messages  to  warn  the 
settlements  of  danger  from  the  French  ?" 

"  I  will  go  where  I  am  sent.  Pierre  and  I  will  go  ; 
Papa  Louis,  no.  We  have  another  selected  in  his 
place.'1 

"And  you  start?" 

"  To-morrow.  That  is  why  I  wanted  to  talk  to 
you.  I  thought  should  anything  happen  to  me  it 
might  be  a  comfort  to  the  good  parents  to  know  that 
we  were  fiancee." 

"  If  anything  were  to  happen  to  you  they  would 

9 


130  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

not  be  so  easily  comforted.  We  are  brother  and 
sister,  Gerard,  and  I  am  fiancee  to  no  one.  There 
is  Mere  Michelle  calling.  I  have  left  her  there  with 
those  two  miserables  to  nurse,  and  I  chatter  here 
half  the  afternoon." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

PLOT    AND    COUNTER-PLOT 

THE  situation  in  New  York  at  this  time  was  ex 
citing.  The  air  was  rife  with  reports  that  the 
Roman  Catholics  of  other  colonies  adjacent  were 
making  preparations  to  march  upon  New  York,  and 
that  there  were  persons  within  the  city's  borders 
who  were  willing  to  betray  it  into  the  hands  of  those 
opposed  to  Protestantism.  It  was  even  rumored 
that  General  Dongan  was  in  the  plot,  and  the  people 
turned  to  Jacob  Leisler,  that  impetuous,  if  indiscreet, 
upholder  of  the  liberties  of  the  people.  Having  first 
seized  the  fort,  he  turned  out  the  English  troops, 
established  himself  in  the  name  of  the  common 
people,  and  defied  his  enemies.  It  was  quite  natural 
that  many  of  the  Huguenots,  dreading  an  establish 
ment  of  that  power  from  which  they  had  already 
suffered  so  much,  should  cling  to  Leisler's  cause, 
and  that  the  Dutch  militia,  all  strong  Protestants, 
should  also  array  themselves  against  any  govern 
ment  which  represented  a  Jacobite  king.  Yet  there 
were  many  office-holders  who  because  of  their  being 
members  of  the  same  church  as  Leisler  should  have 
been  above  suspicion,  but  the  impetuous  Leisler 
did  not  believe  in  half  measures,  and  pursued,  de 
nounced,  and  arrested  in  a  wholesale  manner.  It 

131 


132  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

was  all  or  nothing  with  him,  and  honest  as  his  in 
tentions  doubtless  were,  his  hammer-and-nails  way 
of  dealing  with  his  political  opponents,  his  lack  of 
tact,  and  his  uncompromising  faculty  of  making  ene 
mies  at  last  brought  about  his  own  downfall. 

Without  being  aware  of  it  those  under  the  roof 
of  the  Merciers  were  at  loggerheads.  Papa  Louis 
and  Gerard  were  strong  upholders  of  Jacob  Leisler ; 
Lendert  Verplanck  wTas  as  strongly  arrayed  on  the 
side  of  Van  Cortlandt,  Bayard,  and  Phillipse ;  while 
Francois  Dupont,  an  ardent  Frenchman,  was  ready 
to  do  what  mischief  he  could  to  any  foe  of  his  own 
country.  He  considered  that  no  means  should  be 
despised  if  it  brought  about  the  ultimate  benefit  to 
France,  and  he  was  ready  to  declare  himself  a  friend  to 
any  cause  if  by  so  doing  he  could  accomplish  his  ends. 

"I  love  France.  How,  then?  Who  of  her  chil 
dren  does  not?"  he  exclaimed,  when  Mere  Mi 
chelle  suspiciously  sought  to  fathom  his  errand  to 
New  York.  "You  yourself,  madame,  and  your 
good  husband  there,  are  you  not  also  the  same? 
And  that  old  man  of  whom  you  tell  me,  he  who 
goes  every  day  to  look  toward  France  and  to  stretch 
out  his  hands  in  her  direction,  emigre  though  he  is, 
has  he  forgotten  his  love  for  his  country.  Of  what 
do  you  accuse  me  ?  Of  being  a  Frenchman  instead 
of  a  Dutchman,  or  an  Englishman?  Am  I  not 
Rouennese,  and  therefore  the  more  your  compatriot  ? 
Judge  me  not  so  ill  as  to  think  I  plot  against  you, 
Mere  Michelle." 


PLOT  AND   COUNTER-PLOT  133 

"  I  trust  you  not,  else  why  did  you  steal  away  my 
child,  my  Alainette  ?" 

"I  steal  her  away?"  He  laughed.  " 'Twas  I 
who  rescued  her  from  those  who  were  her  captors. 
Yes,  yes,  I  know  you  will  not  believe  that,  nor  that 
when  the  Indian  brought  her  in  I  was  as  surprised 
as  any  one.  Those  in  whose  company  she  found  me 
are  no  more  your  enemies  than  the  Dutch  monsieur 
yonder  who  receives  your  good  offices.  The  story 
is  this  :  Mademoiselle  is  carried  off  by  a  thieving 
Indian,  who,  for  hope  of  reward,  brings  her  to  us 
with  a  tale  of  having  rescued  her  from  his  comrades. 
I  desire  to  aid  mademoiselle  to  a  return  to  her  right 
ful  possessions,  and  I  offer  her  escape  from  yonder 
Dutchman,  whose  good  intentions  I  have  no  reason 
to  know.  She,  in  a  spasm  of  fear,  resents  this,  and 
behold  the  result ;  I  suffer  from  a  gunshot  wound, 
and  monsieur,  the  Dutchman,  suffers  from  my  self- 
defence,  and  here  we  are.1' 

Michelle,  slowly  stirring  a  cup  of  broth,  listened, 
but  was  not  convinced  by  his  plausible  tale.  "  You 
have  been  too  near  to  death,  monsieur,"  she  said, 
"  and  you  should  not  lie  to  me." 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  and  do  I  lie  ?  I  lie  on  this  good  bed 
far  too  long.  When  do  I  arise,  Mother  Michelle  ?" 

"  Not  for  some  days." 

"And  monsieur,  the  Dutch  ox?" 

"  M.  Verplanck  will  arise  to-day  and  will  soon  be 
on  his  way  home." 

The    eyes    of  Fran£ois    shone    with    satisfaction. 


134  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  Pray  God  we  have  a  chance  to  meet  on  other  than 
neutral  ground.  Pig  that  he  is !  I  would  fain  have 
a  good  sword-arm  to  use  when  we  do  meet." 

"Why  do  you  not  strive  to  love  your  enemies, 
monsieur?"  said  Michelle,  with  unmoved  gravity. 

" Strive?  I  do  not  strive  for  such  sorry  results. 
He  is  your  enemy  as  well  as  mine.  Do  you  love 
him  ?" 

"  I  am  not  averse  to  him ;  he  seems  a  well-dis 
posed  and  amiable  young  man." 

"Who  will  go  hence  and  do  you  a  harm  when  he 
gets  a  chance.  Do  you  not  know  him  for  an  aider 
and  abettor  of  King  James's  minions, — a  Jacobite  ?" 

u  I  know  him  for  nothing  but  a  wounded  stranger 
who  is  patient  and  grateful." 

"  And  you  think  I  am  neither.  I  may  prove  to 
be  both  some  day.  To-morrow  I  arise  from  my 
bed,  Mere  Michelle,  and  that  Dutchman  yonder 
leaves  the  house." 

"Ta-ta-ta,  but  he  is  the  very  evil  one,  that  M. 
Dupont,"  Michelle  confided  to  her  husband  the 
next  day.  "  I  am  thankful,  Louis,  that  you  re 
main  with  us,  else  I  know  not  what  might  happen 
here." 

Papa  Louis  swelled  out  his  breast  in  conscious 
pride  of  his  office  as  protector.  "  I  remain,  my 
wife,  and  you  need  have  no  fear ;  though  Gerard 
and  Pierre  have  departed,  I  remain." 

u  I  trust  those  two  will  return." 

"And  why  not?" 


PLOT   AND    COUNTER-PLOT  135 

"  There  are  signs  and  rumors  and  distresses ;  one 
cannot  tell  who  is  safe.  If  the  French  be  ready  to 
descend  upon  us  we  shall,  ah,  my  husband  !  we  shall 
again  fall  under  the  shadow  of  persecution." 

Papa  Louis  spread  out  his  fingers  and  raised  his 
hand  as  if  to  say,  That  flies  away,  that  possibility. 
"For  myself  I  am  not  anticipating  that,"  he  said. 
"The  good  God  who  has  brought  us  this  far  will  not 
desert  us." 

At  this  moment  a  white  face  and  tottering  form 
appeared  from  behind  the  curtain  at  the  other  side 
of  the  room.  "Monsieur,  you  are  defying  Provi 
dence  !"  cried  Michelle. 

"  I  said  I  would  arise,  and  I  keep  my  word.  Give 
me  your  shoulder,  good  Papa  Mercier,  and  I  will  get 
to  that  seat  by  the  door.  Mon  Dieu  !  but  it  is  good 
to  see  the  sunshine  again.  Ho,  there,  lubber,  I  am 
up  before  you !" 

He  turned  toward  the  bed  occupied  by  Lendert, 
and  Papa  Louis  chuckled  at  his  sudden  change  of 
expression.  "Whom  do  you  address,  M.  Dupont? 
Is  it  perhaps  M.  Verplanck?  He  has  been  sitting 
outside  the  door  this  half-hour." 

Fran£ois  ground  his  teeth.  "  The  pig !  How  did 
he  manage  it?" 

"  You  were  asleep  and  we  helped  him  quietly  to 
dress.  You  would  best  sit  here,  monsieur." 

"  No,  nearer,  where  I  can  look  out.  Ah-h,  I  see 
why  that  other  sits  there  outside ;  that  he  may  the 
better  converse  alone  with  mademoiselle.  I  will  be 


136  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

watch-dog,  Papa  Mercier.  You  do  not  guard  your 
daughter  any  too  well." 

"  She  needs  no  overlooking,"  spoke  up  Michelle, 
sharply,  "  and  it  is  not  M.  Verplanck  from  whom  she 
must  be  guarded." 

Fran9ois  laughed  mockingly.  "We  will  prove 
the  truth  of  that  later  on."  He  dropped  trembling 
into  his  chair  and  gazed  out  upon  the  autumn  land 
scape  showing  that  haziness  peculiar  to  the  season. 
Under  a  large  tree  were  two  figures :  Lendert  Ver 
planck  and  Alaine.  The  girl  with  her  hands  folded 
before  her  was  talking  earnestly  to  the  young  man, 
with  once  in  a  while  a  toss  of  her  head  toward  the 
house. 

"  They  speak  of  me,  no  doubt,"  said  Franfois. 

"  You  are  egotist,  monsieur,"  laughed  Papa  Louis 
as  he  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

Frangois  called  him  back  and  motioned  to  a  chair 
opposite.  "  Sit  there,  M.  Mercier,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  said  to  Madame  Mercier  that  I  may  yet  be  able 
to  prove  myself  a  grateful,  if  I  have  not  been  a 
welcome,  guest.  I  see  that  mademoiselle  has  finished 
her  conversation  with  M.  Verplanck.  We  are  alone  ?" 
He  glanced  around  the  room.  Mere  Michelle  had 
gone  out  of  the  back  door  to  attend  to  her  dairy. 
No  one  was  in  sight.  Frangois  leaned  forward.  u  M. 
Mercier,  you  who  are  a  friend  of  Jacob  Leisler's 
cannot  be  a  friend  of  Nicholas  Bayard's.  It  is  not  a 
secret  that  Jacob  Leisler  desires  to  place  Nicholas 
Bayard  where  his  tongue  will  not  run  away  with 


PLOT  AND   COUNTER-PLOT  137 

him.  He  is  in  hiding,  this  Bayard,  and  you  who  are 
for  the  people  would  like  to  discover  him  I  suppose." 

Papa  Louis  gently  patted  one  knee,  but  did  not 
commit  himself  by  so  much  as  a  word.  The  back 
door  softly  opened  and  shut  again.  Fran£ois  looked 
around  impatiently.  No  one  was  visible.  "This 
Verplanck,"  he  continued,  "it  is  at  the  house  of  his 
relatives  that  you  will  find  Bayard,  or  at  least  he 
was  there,  and  ten  to  one  some  one  there  can  be 
bought  over  to  tell  where  he  can  be  found  if  he 
chance  to  have  left.  You  have  but  to  escort  M.  Ver 
planck  to  this  house,  where  he  will  probably  go  first, 
and  behold  who  is  likely  to  come  out  to  welcome 
him  back  but  Nicholas  Bayard.  You  say  nothing; 
you  ride  away ;  at  night  you  return  and  capture  one 
or  both." 

"  At  the  expense  of  doing  wrong  to  our  guest, 
who  delivered  our  daughter  from  danger." 

"  Danger !  I  tell  you  not  danger,  a  misunderstand 
ing,  a  misconstruction.  What  do  you  know  of  this 
stranger?  Whither  was  he  taking  her?  What 
cause  have  you  for  thinking  you  would  have  had  her 
restored  to  you  by  his  hands  ?  I,  for  myself,  I  have 
only  her  good  at  heart.  I  pray  you,  M.  Mercier, 
think  of  your  leader  who  would  deliver  you  from  a 
papistical  king.  Is  Bayard  not  one  of  those  whom 
you  call  aristocrats  and  papists  ?  This  fellow,  too,  is 
one  of  the  same  stamp.  If  you  will  I  can  arrange 
as  pretty  a  plot  as  you  could  wish,  and  the  people, 
the  people  whom  Leisler  leads,  will  be  free  of  one 


138  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Romanist  in  disguise."  He  watched  his  listener 
narrowly. 

Papa  Louis  did  not  change  expression,  but  sat 
absorbed  in  thought.  "  One  does  not  send  away  a 
guest  to  follow  him  with  disaster,"  he  replied,  after 
a  time. 

44  Guest !  A  guest  perforce.  Who  asks  you  to 
bring  disaster  upon  a  guest?  He  is  one  no  longer 
when  he  leaves  your  roof,  and  it  is  of  the  man 
Bayard  of  whom  we  chiefly  speak.  Well,  you  do 
not  care  to  prove  your  friendship  for  your  cause. 
You  are  not  a  very  stanch  champion,  M.  Mercier. 
Perhaps  you,  too,  are  a  Jacobite,  and  are  not  without 
ambition  to  show  yourself  a  partisan  of  these  aristo 
crats.  A  man  of  your  intellect  might  well  expect  to 
be  admitted  into  what  the  adherents  of  Leisler  call 
the  court  circle." 

44  No,  no,  that  is  no  ambition  of  mine  !"  cried  Papa 
Louis,  vehemently.  "  I  assure  you  I  am  not  of  that 
party  at  all.  I  will  consult  with  my  friends,  mon 
sieur.  I  will  go  to  Manhatte  to-rnorrow." 

44  And  when  does  M.  Verplanck  depart?" 

44  He  will  not  be  strong  enough  for  some  days  to 
come.  There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  haste, 
monsieur.  I  will  consider  what  you  have  said, 
meanwhile  remembering  that  you  are  no  friend  of  the 
young  man  who  has  shared  our  attentions  with  you. 
Sit  there  and  rest.  For  myself  I  have  remained  too 
long ;  I  must  go  to  my  work.  Without  Gerard  my 
hands  are  full." 


PLOT  AND   COUNTER-PLOT  139 

"  I  could  go  a  step  farther,  I  think,"  returned 
Fraii9ois.  "  Why  may  I  not  sit  outside  as  well  as 
yon  indolent  churl  ?  I'll  warrant  he  has  not  an  idea 
in  his  head  as  he  sits  there  like  a  blinking  owl. 
Your  shoulder  again,  M.  Mercier,  and  I  can  creep 
along." 

As  the  two  figures  disappeared  out  of  the  door, 
from  behind  the  curtains  peeped  Alaine's  face.  She 
shook  her  finger  at  the  two.  "  Plots,  Papa  Louis, 
plots.  I  will  not  have  you  mixed  up  in  them, 
neither  will  I  allow  good  M.  Bayard  to  suffer ;  and  as 
for  you,  you  scheming  monster,  I  am  not  sure  what  is 
bad  enough  for  you.  Go  to  Manhatte  if  you  must, 
go  to-morrow,  Papa  Louis,  we  can  manage  without 
you.  Adieu !"  And  she  lightly  blew  him  a  kiss 
from  the  ends  of  her  fingers. 

"To  Manhatte!"  cried  Mere  Michelle,  when  her 
husband  announced  his  intention  of  an  early  start. 
u  And  for  why  ?  Politics  ?  Many  a  better  man  has 
been  ruined  by  them.  For  my  part  I  advise  you  to 
remain  at  home  and  watch  your  garden,  your  fields, 
your  family.  It  is  here  you  are  needed  and  not  in 
Manhatte.  I  pray  you  do  not  mix  yourself  up  in 
affairs.  It  is  better  to  be  the  small,  the  undistin 
guished,  so  you  are  overlooked,  otherwise  place 
yourself  in  the  way,  at  a  turn  of  the  wheel,  lo  !  you 
are  crushed." 

Papa  Louis  shook  his  head.  "  I  must  go,"  he 
said. 

"  And  who  will  protect  us  ?" 


140  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  I  trust  there  will  be  no  need,  and  even  if  there 
were,  there  are  neighbors  besides  messieurs  our 
guests.  They  have  both  recovered  sufficiently  to 
handle  a  gun." 

"To  shoot  each  other?  No,  no.  I  will  not  be 
responsible  for  them." 

"  Gerard  returns  this  afternoon.  You  will  be  safe 
enough  then."  Papa  Louis  spoke  rather  shortly. 
He  did  not  half  like  his  errand,  yet  was  not  inclined 
to  give  it  up. 

Alaine,  from  the  door,  watched  him  depart.  She 
returned  to  the  big  living-room  to  hear  Mere  Michelle 
expostulating  with  Fra^ois.  "  But,  monsieur,  I  as 
sure  you  it  is  still  very  early.  You  will  weary  before 
the  day  is  out.  I  beg  of  you  to  rest  till  you  have 
breakfasted."  She  emerged  from  behind  the  cur 
tains.  "  He  will  wear  me  to  a  bone,  that  one  there," 
she  made  her  complaint  to  Alaine  as  she  stirred 
about  to  prepare  the  breakfast.  "M.  Verplanck 
arises  like  a  gentleman  without  discourse.  He  takes 
my  advice ;  if  I  say,  'Remain  in  bed,'  he  remains." 

"And  this  morning?" 

"  He  has  already  arisen,  as  you  may  perceive." 

Alaine  ate  her  breakfast  silently ;  once  or  twice 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  M.  Verplanck,  who  sat  oppo 
site,  and  when  Mere  Michelle  went  to  the  buttery, 
she  said  in  a  quick  whisper,  "  Monsieur,  I  wish  to 
speak  to  you ;  much  depends  upon  it.  I  go  to  the 
garden." 

Into  Lendert's  sleepy  blue  eyes  came  a  flash  of 


PLOT   AND   COUNTER-PLOT  141 

understanding.  He  was  not  long  in  following  Alaine 
to  the  garden.  She  stood  waiting  for  him  with 
something  like  impatience.  "  Monsieur  Verplanck," 
she  began,  "  you  must  leave  us  to-day.'1 

"  So  ?"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,  they  are  plotting  against  you;  they  will 
follow  you.  M.  Bayard  will  be  discovered  if  you 
wait." 

"Who  will  do  this?1' 

Alaine  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  she  raised 
her  truthful  eyes.  "  I  overheard  that  one  in  there 
talking  to  Papa  Louis.  He,  dear  man,  does  not 
understand,  or  at  least  he  is,  you  perceive,  upon  the 

other  side,  and — and Oh,  monsieur,  you  will 

keep  my  secret  as  I  do  yours  ?  You  will  not  in 
form  ?" 

"  I  should  be  base  to  do  such  a  thing  when  I  have 
been  sheltered  and  cared  for  as  a  son  or  a  brother. 
No,  I  could  not  do  other  than  keep  your  secret,  and 
again  I  would  defend  any  one  of  this  family  if  my 
opportunity  came.  I  will  go  at  once  if  it  will  please 
you." 

"  Your  horse  is  in  the  stable  ;  I  will  help  you  to 
get  him.  I  wish  you  were  altogether  strong,  mon 
sieur." 

"  I  am  well  enough  ;  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  I 
will  not  say  which  road  I  take  lest  your  good  con 
science  trouble  you  if  you  are  asked.  We  must 
meet  again ;  I  go  with  regret.  May  I  kiss  your 
hand  ?" 


142  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Alaine  with  a  blush  extended  her  little  brown 
fingers.  He  pressed  them  fervently,  raised  them  to 
his  lips  and  murmured,  "  We  meet  again ;  yes,  we 
meet  again." 

"Adieu,  monsieur,"  Alaine  whispered,  her  eyes 
dropping  before  his  gaze.  "  You — you  are  not  an  ox 
nor  a  stupid,"  she  laughed,  "though  that  one  in 
there  does  call  you  so." 

He  laughed.  "  I  thank  you,  gracious  little  lady  ; 
I  cannot  find  words  to  say  what  you  are ;  it  would 
take  a  life  in  which  to  find  words  to  praise  you  as  I 
ought." 

"  Ah  !"  Alaine  sighed.  There  was  a  kindling  up 
of  the  smouldering  fire  in  the  blue  eyes  which  did 
not  remove  their  gaze  from  her  face.  This  young 
man  was  something  different  from  the  sombre  Pierre 
or  the  bold  Fra^ois.  The  very  difference  pleased 
the  girl ;  this  calmness  attracted  her,  and  for  an  in 
stant  she  allowed  her  hand  to  rest  in  the  big  fingers 
of  the  young  Dutchman,  then  she  withdrew  it  and 
repeated,  "  Adieu,  monsieur ;  I  must  not  stay." 

He  only  nodded  in  reply,  still  keeping  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  her. 

"Shall  I  help  you  to  get  your  horse?" 

"  No,  I  can  get  him." 

"Then — adieu,  monsieur.1' 

She  retreated  a  step  ;  he  followed  her,  that  light 
in  his  eyes  gathering  strength  and  fascinating  her  so 
that  a  little  grieving  sigh  she  breathed  as  his  arms 
enfolded  her  closer,  closer,  and  his  lips  pressed  hers. 


PLOT   AND   COUNTER-PLOT  143 

"Too  sweet  thou  art  for  me  to  leave  thee,"  he  mur 
mured. 

Trembling,  half  crying,  her  heart  beating  tumult- 
uously,  Alaine  thrust  him  from  her.  "  This  is  very 

wrong,  monsieur.  I  sheuld  not Oh,  what  is  it 

I  have  done  ?"  The  tears  had  their  way,  and  she 
leaned  against  the  side  of  the  barn,  hiding  her  face. 

But  again  she  felt  those  enfolding  arms  and  kisses 
showered  on  her  brow,  her  hair.  "  Thou  dost  not 
love  me?"  Lendert  whispered. 

"  I  must  not,  I  must  not.1' 

'•  But  I  love  thee,  so  brave,  so  beautiful.  Where 
would  Lendert  Verplanck  be  but  for  thee?" 

"  In  heaven,  I  hope,"  returned  Alaine,  with  an 
irresistible  impulse. 

He  held  her  off  and  regarded  her  gravely.  The 
autumn  sunlight  found  the  ruddy  golds  and  browns 
of  her  hair,  a  soft  peach-like  hue  bloomed  on  her 
cheek,  her  sweet  red  lips  were  parted.  "Thou  dost 
love  me  as  I  love  thee,  as  I  love  thee,  so  beautiful?" 

This  time  Alaine  allowed  her  head  to  rest  on  the 
broad  shoulder.  "  I  love  thee ;  I  will  be  true  in 
saying  it,  monsieur,"  she  whispered. 

"Not  that,  but  Lendert." 

"  Then  listen,  Lendert.  I  must  not  love  thee,  for, 
alas !  I  am  half  promised  to  another,  I  do  not  know 
but  to  two  others.  You  must  go,  Lendert,  but  first 
I  will  tell  thee  how  it  is.  Those  two,  my  adopted 
parents,  wish  me  to  marry  Gerard,  and  there  is  an 
other  who  has  loved  me  this  year  past.  Gerard 


144  BECAUSE    OF  CONSCIENCE 

loves  Mathilde,  but  Pierre,  poor  Pierre,  so  good,  so 
true,  he  has  none  but  me.  He  has  suffered  much, 
and  to  him  I  have  promised  my  hand  if  he  can  find 
a  way  to  restore  my  father  to  me,  and  if  my  father 
desires  me  to  rnarry  him." 

Lendert  softly  stroked  her  hair  back  from  her 
forehead  while  he  listened,  but  he  made  no  com 
ment. 

"And  therefore,  you  see,  Lendert,  I  should  not 
love  you,"  she  continued. 

He  lifted  her  arms  to  clasp  his  neck  and  looked 
down  with  that  compelling  glance.  u  I  love  thee, 
Alaine,  and  thou  lovest  me  ;  there  is  nothing  else  in 
the  world  to  remember.  It  is  not  wrong  to  love, 
and  we  have  not  been  able  to  do  else  than  choose 
each  other  from  out  of  the  entire  universe,  then 
what?  We  love,  and  that  is  all.  I  will  tell  thee  a 
confession,  too ;  my  mother  wishes  me  to  marry  one 
of  her  choosing,  the  daughter  of  a  friend  and  distant 
relative.  I  was  content  to  consider  her  wishes, 
although  I  made  no  promise,  but  now  I  have  seen 
thee,  sweet  Alaine,  I  cannot  do  it.  As  I  lay  in  bed 
and  heard  thy  voice,  and  saw  thy  face  day  afler  day, 
it  grew,  this  love,  and  I  thought,  If  she  can  love  this 
big  clumsy  ox,  as  the  Frenchman  calls  him,  I  will 
love  her  forever ;  I  will  marry  none  other ;  but  I  did 
not  hope  as  yet,  Alaine,  that  thou  couldst  love  Len 
dert  Verplanck,  who  loves  thee  so  dearly." 

"  I  did  not  know,  either,"  sighed  Alaine  ;  "  I  did 
not  know  till  now  when  thou  must  leave  me." 


PLOT   AND    COUNTER-PLOT  145 

"  When  I  will  not  leave  thee.     I  do  not  go  to-day." 

"  Oh,  but  Ihou  must." 

"  Not  at  all ;  it  is  all  a  needless  alarm.  When  I 
go  I  shall  take  another  road,  and  shall  go  where  I 
select.  I  have  nothing  to  take  me  directly  home, 
nor  even  to  those  my  relatives.  None  will  wonder 
at  my  delay.  The  good  Mother  Mercier  has  sent 
messages  more  than  once  by  a  safe  hand,  and  they 
know  I  am  faring  well.  I  will  not  leave  thee  to-day, 
Alaine ;  I  wish  to  say  more,  to  hear  more." 

"  But  I  must  not  stay  here  so  long ;  Mere  Michelle 
will  wonder,  though  she  knows  I  am  taking  some  of 
Gerard's  duties.  Since  he  and  Papa  Louis  are  away, 
I  must  do  more." 

"  And  I  will  help  thee." 

"She  would  be  shocked,  that  good  mother,  so 
shocked  if  she  knew  what  I  have  been  doing.  I  am 
a  very  wicked  girl." 

He  laughed  softly.     "  Wicked  is  it  to  love  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  should  not  have  told  it.  Thou 
shouldst  have  gone  to  Papa  Louis  very  properly,  and 
I  should  have  been  surprised  when  he  told  me  and 
have  behaved  with  great  decorum.  Perhaps  they 
would  not  have  told  me  at  all ;  they  might  have  said, 
You  cannot  have  her,  M.  Verplanck ;  she  is  to  be 
betrothed  to  Gerard." 

"  And  then  this  hour  would  have  been  lost  to  us. 
We  would  never  have  lived  it.  Art  sorry,  Alaine, 
sorry  that  it  was  not  as  thou  hast  described  ?  Art 
sorry,  sweet  Alaine  ?" 

10 


146  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  No,"  she  confessed,  "  I  am  not,  for,  Lender!,  I, 
too,  have  been  learning  to  love  ever  since  that 
moment  when  thou  wast  wounded  in  the  wood." 

They  stood  looking  into  each  other's  eyes,  over 
come  by  the  remembrance  of  the  fateful  hour;  then 
a  cloud  came  over  Alaine's  face ;  "  Poor  Pierre," 
she  murmured,  as  she  moved  away  to  finish  the 
tasks  left  for  her  to  do.  Lendert  kept  by  her  side 
and  was  able  to  give  her  such  aid  that  it  was  not 
long  before  she  returned  to  Mere  Michelle,  who  more 
than  once  had  gone  to  the  door  to  look  after  the 
delinquents. 

"  You  have  been  long,  Alaine,"  she  said,  sharply. 

"I  know,"  replied  Alaine,  meekly.  "We  were 
talking,  M.  Verplanck  and  I,  and  then  he  helped 
me." 

"  You  must  not  allow  it  again.  It  is  not  proper, 
nor  a  maidenly  thing  to  permit."  Mere  Michelle 
spoke  in  her  most  reproving  tones.  "Where  did 
you  leave  M.  Verplanck  ?" 

"  In  the  barn,  attending  to  his  horse." 

"They  will  soon  be  gone,  those  two,"  Michelle 
went  on,  in  a  less  severe  voice,  "  and  I  shall  not  be 
sorry.  I  do  not  regret  that  we  have  been  able,  with 
God's  help,  to  mend  their  wounds,  though  the  one  is 
as  if  he  were  a  child  of  the  evil  one ;  the  other, 
stolid  Dutchman  though  he  is,  cannot  be  dis 
liked." 

Alaine  smiled  at  the  word  stolid  ;  if  Michelle  could 
have  seen  her  stolid  Dutchman  an  hour  ago  !  She 


PLOT   AND    COUNTER-PLOT  147 

drew  so  long  and  quivering  a  sigh  that  Michelle 
stopped  her  spinning  and  looked  at  her  sharply. 

"  I  would  you  and  Gerard  were  safely  married," 
she  said  ;  "  another  year  and  you  should  be." 

"  He  is  too  young,  that  brother  of  mine,"  Alaine 
answered,  "  not  yet  twenty,  Mere  Michelle,  and  it 
would  be  wiser  if  he  were  possessed  of  more  before 
he  takes  to  himself  a  wife." 

"  So  Louis  says,  and  so  would  I  say  were  it  not 
for  the  eyes  of  young  men  who  trouble  me  by  look 
ing  too  long  at  you." 

"  Whose  eyes  ?" 

"  Pierre  Boutillier's  and  that  evil  creature's  yon 
der,  out  of  doors  there,  not  to  mention  this  myn 
heer's." 

Alaine  was  silent,  but  she  gave  a  quick  glance  to 
where  Francois  sat  under  the  tree.  She,  too,  would 
feel  more  comfortable  when  he  had  departed.  How 
was  it  that,  openly  culpable  as  he  had  been,  he  had 
yet  almost  persuaded  them  all  that  he  had  contrived 
no  ill  again  her?  "  Yet  a  wicked,  deceitful  maid  am 
I,"  she  reflected.  "  I  am  this  moment  posing  as  an 
innocent  before  Michelle ;  I  have  let  Pierre  go  with 
my  promise,  while  out  there  is  a  man  I  have  known 
only  a  few  weeks,  and  to  whom  I  have  given  my  in 
constant  heart.  No,  no,  Lendert,  it  is  my  constant 
heart  which  I  give  you."  Mere  Michelle  had  left 
her  alone,  and  she  had  taken  up  the  spinning. 
With  the  whir  of  the  wheel  her  thoughts  kept  time. 
"  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,  Lendert  Verplanck. 


148  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

I  see  you  out  there  with  the  sun  shining  on  your 
yellow  hair,  under  the  blue  sky,  blue  like  your  eyes. 
Lendert,  who  loves  me,  who  kissed  me,  who  held  me 
in  his  strong  arms.  I  feel  so  safe,  so  happy,  Len 
dert,  with  you  near.  I  wish  you  might  never  go, 
Lendert  Verplanck,  with  your  yellow  hair,  your 
beautiful  smile,  and  your  broad  shoulders.  Monkey 
under  the  tree,  if  you  but  knew  how  insignificant 
you  look  beside  him  you  would  cease  your  mowing 
and  grimacing." 

Frangois  was  beckoning  to  Lendert,  who  viewed 
him  imperturbably  from  his  point  of  vantage  within 
the  stable-yard.  "  Here,  oaf,  boor,  ox,  stolid  ox ! 
By  St.  Michael !  it  is  as  much  as  one's  life  is  worth 
to  bring  an  idea  into  that  thick  skull.  He  does  well 
out  there  with  the  cattle  in  the  barn-yard,  for  he 
looks  at  me  as  if  he  had  no  notion  of  what  I  am.  I 
might  be  a  stick  or  a  stone  for  all  the  intelligence  in 
his  perception  of  me.  The  devil !  I  cannot  rise 
without  assistance  and  he  does  not  budge.  Here, 
you,  I  want  your  arm." 

Lendert,  over  the  fence,  looked  at  him  composedly. 
"  I  want  both  my  arms  myself,"  he  said.  "  You'd 
better  get  the  man  who  deprived  you  of  the  use  of 
yours  to  supply  you  with  what  you  want." 

Francois  laughed  grimly.  u  He  actually  tries  to 
display  a  sense  of  humor,  the  elephant ;  he  would  be 
light  of  speech.  Eh  bien,  monsieur,  stay  where  you 
are ;  mademoiselle  there  must  help  me,  for  go  in 
doors  will  I." 


PLOT   AND    COUNTER-PLOT  149 

At  this  Lendert  came  forward. 

Frangois  laughed  maliciously.  "  It  is  because  you 
fear  the  word  to  mademoiselle,  I  see,  and  not  of 
compassion  for  me.  Well,  monsieur,  it  will  not  be 
long  that  the  occasion  for  rivalry  exists ;  you  leave 
us,  and  then " 

"And  then?"  said  Lendert,  a  heavier  set  to  his 
mouth. 

"And  then — she  is  mine." 

"  You  lie,"  returned  Lendert,  quietly. 

"  Ox !  I  would  fell  you  to  the  earth  were  I  able. 
As  it  is,  you  shall  see.  I  owe  you  something,  but 
not  thanks,  and  I  will  have  my  payment  for  the 
pains  I  have  endured,  and  the  payment  I  shall  take 
will  be  mademoiselle  herself." 

Lendert  made  a  sudden  movement,  at  which  Fran- 
£ois  gave  a  cry  of  pain.  "  Stupid  ox  !  to  make  a  mis 
step  !  However,  it  goes  in  with  the  rest,  but  the 
payment  is  sure ;  digest  that  with  your  grass  and 
hay  and  stubble,  ox."  He  sank  heavily  into  the 
chair  ready  for  him  inside.  The  hum  of  the  wheel 
was  scarcely  stilled,  but  Alaine  had  vanished.  Len 
dert  smiled  to  himself  and  went  out. 

"  Good  mother,"  he  said,  when  he  had  found 
Michelle,  "  your  patient  yonder  needs  you." 

"And  you?"  she  asked. 

"  I  am  beyond  the  necessity  of  your  kind  min 
istrations.  I  depart.  I  may  not  return  for  some 
time,  but  I  take  my  leave  with  many  thanks,  and 
I  shall  never  forget.  Remember,  good  Mother  Mer- 


150  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

cier,  that  here  is  a  friend  if  you  ever  have  need  of 
one." 

u  And  you  go  at  once  ?" 

"  Before  night." 

Michelle  kissed  him  on  each  cheek.  "  Adieu  then, 
my  friend,  may  good  fortune  attend  you." 


CHAPTER    IX 

THREE    PARTINGS 

ALAINE,  singing  in  the  garden  where  she  was 
gathering  some  late  vegetables,  saw  Lendert  coming. 
She  had  longed,  yet  dreaded  to  see  him  again.  The 
color  flew  to  her  face  as  he  drew  near,  and  she 
moved  away  a  few  steps.  "  If  you  will  stay  there 
and  help  me  with  these  beans  I  will  tell  you  more 
of  myself,  some  things  which  you  do  not  know,"  she 
said. 

Lendert  took  the  place  assigned  him.  Michelle, 
from  the  house,  watched  the  pair ;  Lendert  slowly 
picking  from  the  vines  the  pods  to  fill  a  basket  stand 
ing  upon  the  walk,  and  Alaine  with  quick  bird-like 
movements  adding  to  the  store.  But  Michelle  did 
not  know  all  that  Alaine  was  saying,  that  she  was 
disclosing  herself  as  Alaine  Hervieu,  that  she  was 
telling  of  her  great  hope  that  her  father  might  still  be 
living,  and  of  Pierre's  interest  in  the  quest. 

To  all  this  Lendert  listened  mutely.  When  the 
basket  was  filled  the  two  carried  it  together  to  the 
barn.  Michelle  frowned  and  shook  her  head,  still 
keeping  an  eye  upon  the  barn  door.  What  if  she 
could  have  heard  Lendert  say,  "  I  think  I  will  go,  my 
Alaine.  Thou,  my  beloved,  must  believe  in  me  even 

151 


152  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

if  them  dost  not  see  me  in  a  long  time.  We  love, 
thou  and  I,  but  what  is  best  to  do  I  must  think,  and 
I  must  leave  thee,  beloved  one,  for  a  time,  but  I  leave 
my  heart  behind." 

"  And  mine  thou  takest  with  thee." 

"They  will  not  marry  thee  to  another  mean 
while  ?" 

"No,  no." 

"Yet  thy  father?" 

"  If  he  returns  it  will  be  his  right  to  bestow  my 
hand ;  that  is  what  I  tell  myself  and  what  I  have 
told  Pierre." 

"  And  this  Pierre  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  away  ;  when  he  returns  we  are  to 
speak  of  how  to  obtain  my  father's  release.  I  would 
have  gone  myself, — I  meant  to, — but  now — Lendert, 
Lendert,  I  was  ready  to  do  this  even  a  week  ago." 

"And  now,  is  it  I  who  keeps  thee  from  it?" 

"It  is  thou?"  she  whispered. 

He  kissed  her  hair,  her  eyes,  her  lips.  "  Now  I 
know  thou  dost  love  me,  and  thou  shalt  understand 
one  day  how  I  value  thy  love.  We  must  part,  my 
beloved,  but  I  will  come  again.  In  the  mean  time 
be  thou  patient  and  constant." 

One  last  embrace  and  he  was  gone,  leaving  Alaine 
with  a  miserable  sort  of  happiness.  It  seemed  as  if 
her  heart  would  burst  with  this  new-born  love  and 
with  the  memory  of  the  parting.  All  these  weeks, 
day  by  day,  this  flower  of  love  had  been  growing 
and  she  was  scarcely  aware  of  it ;  now  it  had  burst 


THREE   PARTINGS  153 

into  bloom,  and  she  was  bewildered  and  faint  with 
its  sweetness.  She  threw  herself  down  on  the  hay 
and  pressed  her  hands  over  her  burning  eyes. 

She  was  aroused  by  a  sudden  stealthy  sound. 
She  lifted  her  head  slightly  and  peeped  between  the 
spears  of  hay  to  see  the  sinuous  form  of  an  Indian 
skulking  past  the  barn.  With  almost  as  secret  a 
movement  she  crept  to  a  point  where  she  could 
watch  his  further  actions.  There  was  Michelle  busy 
in  the  fields  husking  corn ;  the  house  was  left  for 
occupancy  to  Francois  Dupont.  Was  this  known  to 
the  red-skin?  Was  it  Francois  whom  he  sought? 
She  watched  him  make  his  way  to  the  house  and 
insinuate  his  lithe  body  in  at  the  door.  "  He  may 
be  simply  one  of  the  friendly  creatures  come  with  a 
message  or  to  get  work  in  the  fields,"  she  thought ; 
"  but  no,  he  would  not  have  then  approached  in  this 
stealthy  way.'' 

At  last  she  determined  to  busy  herself  openly  in 
the  garden,  where  there  were  still  more  beans  to  be 
gathered  and  where  Michelle,  in  the  field  beyond, 
could  see  her.  She  was  hard  at  work  pulling  the 
rattling  pods  when  suddenly  by  her  side  appeared 
the  Indian.  She  had  been  furtively  watching,  but 
had  not  seen  him  leave  the  house,  and  his  appear 
ance  startled  her.  He  paused  only  long  enough  to 
slip  a  paper  into  her  hand,  and  then,  gliding  along  by 
the  fence,  was  lost  in  the  woods  beyond. 

Wonderingly  Alaine  unfolded  the  paper.  On  it 
was  written,  "  If  you  would  say  farewell,  meet  me 


154  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

to-morrow  at  sunset  at  the  cave  where  is  the  old 
fireplace.  The  ship  will  be  ready. — Pierre." 

Alaine  held  the  paper  in  her  shaking  hand.  To 
leave  now  with  Lendert's  love  warming  her  heart ; 
with  this  new  hope  beautifying  her  life  !  She  gazed 
with  staring  eyes  at  the  words.  "  Oh,  my  father, 
my  father !"  she  moaned.  "  But  you  said,  Pierre,  it 
would  do  no  good,  that  they  would  not  accept  me 
in  his  stead/'  She  stood  very  still  with  the  paper 
clinched  in  her  hand.  "Perhaps,"  she  thought, 
after  reflection,  "  he  means  that  he  goes  himself  to 
see  what  can  be  done.  The  good,  noble  Pierre.  I 
will  meet  him ;  I  will  give  him  every  sou  I  have 
saved.  I  will  bless  you,  my  good  Pierre,  but  I  can 
not  reward  you  as  I  said  I  would.  No,  Lendert,  I 
cannot,  I  cannot,  even  though  my  father  bade  me. 
I  must  be  honest  and  tell  Pierre  that.  But  oh,  my 
father,  who  will  then  deliver  you  ?"  She  fell  on  her 
knees  and  sobbed  out  the  words. 

Michelle,  beyond  in  the  cornfield,  saw  her. 
"  Something  disturbs  my  little  one,"  she  said  to  her 
self.  "  There  are  human  wolves  to  be  kept  from 
my  lamb.  As  soon  as  Louis  returns  that  one  in 
there  must  go.  I  can  see  that  my  little  one  fears 
him  ;  I  will  not  have  it  so."  She  raised  her  basket 
of  yellow  corn  and  bore  it  toward  the  barn,  taking 
care  to  pass  Alaine  on  the  way.  "Tears  in  your 
eyes,  my  pretty  one,"  she  said,  putting  down  her 
basket.  "  What  is  this  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  of  my  father,"  faltered  Alaine, 


THREE   PARTINGS  155 

and  going  to  Michelle  she  put  her  arms  around  her. 
"  Dear  mother,  comfort  me  ;  it  is  a  wide  world  and 
there  is  much  trouble  in  it." 

"  And  much  goodness." 

"  Yes,  when  I  think  of  Papa  Louis  and  you,  and 
Gerard  and"  Pierre  she  would  have  added,  but  she 
substituted  "  our  good  pastor.  Papa  Louis  returns 
to-night?" 

"  To-morrow ;  and  then  adieu  to  monsieur  the 
wolf  yonder." 

Alaine's  face  brightened.  "I  am  glad,  glad,  Mi 
chelle  ;  he  has  brought  us  evil  days.  Before  he 
came  how  peaceful  and  content  I  was." 

"  And  now  ?" 

The  girl  moved  her  head  wearily.  "I  am  too 
distraught  by  hopes  and  fears  and  dreads." 

"We  will  stop  this,"  thought  Michelle.  uShe 
shall  be  safely  married  to  Gerard  before  the  winter 
is  over.  There,  there,  my  child,"  she  said,  aloud, 
"  once  we  are  rid  of  our  wolf  your  happy  days  will 
come  back.  God  forbid  I  should  commit  murder  in 
my  heart,  but  to  you  I  confess  that  I  would  not 
grieve  if  the  ship  which  carries  this  man  back  to 
France  should  lose  him  overboard." 

"  Oh,  Michelle,  Michelle  !     You  wicked  ?" 

"  I  but  spoke  what  more  than  one  thinks,"  re 
turned  Michelle.  "  You  shall  not  see  him  again  if  I 
can  arrange  it.  Go  to  Mathilde  Duval,  ask  there 
that  they  lend  me  the  little  Jean,  and  remain  till  this 
one  goes.  I  with  Jean  shall  be  safe  till  Gerard  or 


156  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

Louis  returns.  We  have  but  one  guest  now,  though 
the  worst  of  all  he  be.  Yet,  we  must  be  patient, 
child,  patient." 

Alaine  was  only  too  glad  of  escape.  If  they 
would  but  wed  Mathilde  to  Gerard  instead  of  to 
Pierre  ;  but  then  what  good  would  that  do  ?  Pierre 
would  still  be  left.  No,  she  must  be  patient,  patient, 
as  Papa  Louis  and  Mere  Michelle  were  always  telling 
her.  Patience,  the  great  characteristic  of  the  Hu 
guenots,  she  must  cultivate  it,  she  would  try  to  do 
right  when  the  moment  for  action  came. 

Francois,  now  that  he  was  rid  of  his  rival,  had  no 
idea  of  departing  too  hastily.  The  next  morning  he 
was  groaning  on  his  bed,  declaring  that  he  had  taken 
cold  and  that  he  suffered  as  much  as  ever.  Michelle 
submitted  to  the  inevitable  with  none  too  good  a 
grace,  and  felt  obliged  to  send  for  Alaine.  There 
was  no  help  for  it,  but  it  was  a  disappointment,  for 
she  had  endured  a  long  season  of  nursing  and  felt 
that  she  deserved  release.  Beyond  this,  with  Papa 
Louis  and  Gerard  both  away  there  were  added  tasks 
for  the  two  women,  and  Michelle's  face  wore  its 
grimmest  expression.  Whenever  she  could  give 
Alaine  tasks  out  of  the  house  she  did  so,  and  it  was 
not  often  that  the  girl  was  seen  indoors.  Frangois 
clamored  to  have  his  screen  removed,  but  this  Mi 
chelle  refused  to  do.  She  could  not  take  the  time, 
she  said. 

And  so  it  was  that  when  Papa  Louis  returned  the 
next  day  it  was  to  find  that  Franfois  was  again  on 


THREE   PARTINGS  157 

his  back,  but,  to  his  great  relief,  that  Lendert  Ver- 
planck  had  departed,  therefore  the  suggestion  of 
Fran£ois  could  not  be  carried  out.  "  I  am  no  Jac 
obite,1'  he  told  Franfois,  "  and  I  believe  in  the  good 
intentions  of  Jacob  Leisler,  but  he  has  resorted  to 
strong  measures,  and  has  gone  so  far  that  he  cannot 
retreat.  I  have  talked  the  matter  over  with  my 
good  friends,  and  though  one  is  of  one  opinion  and 
one  is  of  another,  the  good  God  has  settled  my  part 
in  the  matter  by  removing  temptation.  I  return,  M. 
Verplanck  has  departed,  the  plot  ends.  As  for  your 
self,  monsieur " 

"  As  for  me " 

"  You  remain  ?  To  help  us  if  we  need  to  resist 
the  attacks  of  your  countrymen  from  Canada?" 

Francois  was  moodily  silent  and  remained  so,  in 
strange  contrast  to  his  former  loquacity,  so  that  Mi 
chelle's  fears  were  aroused  and  she  warned  Alaine. 
"He  is  very  mute  these  days,  that  wolf,  but  his 
white  teeth  are  strong  and  his  eyes  have  still  their 
evil  gleam.  My  lamb  must  not  go  near  him." 

"  I  will  keep  out  of  the  way,"  replied  Alaine.  "  I 
am  not  anxious  to  spend  my  time  in  the  company  of 
M.  Dupont."  And  she  contrived  so  well  that  he 
seldom  saw  her. 

She  found  little  difficulty  in  making  her  escape  the 
day  of  Papa  Louis's  return.  She  ran  down  to  the 
well-known  spot  where  Pierre  was  to  meet  her. 
What  plan  had  he  been  able  to  contrive  ?  She  found 
him  standing  by  the  water's  edge  gazing  out  upon 


158  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

the  sound.  He  did  not  hear  her  approach,  and  she 
stood  for  a  moment  regarding  him.  His  grave  face 
wore  a  sadder  look  than  usual ;  the  quiet,  firm  lips 
were  pressed  together  determinedly,  but  there  was  a 
singularly  sweet  expression  in  the  face,  and  Alaine 
sighed.  Poor  Pierre,  how  sad  a  fate  that  had  not  let 
her  love  him ! 

At  the  sound  of  his  name  softly  spoken  he  turned, 
and  a  flush  of  pleasure  lighted  up  his  dark  eyes. 
u  Alaine,  Alainette,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hands. 

She  came  and  laid  hers  in  them.  "  Are  you  going 
away,  Pierre  ?  Is  that  why  you  wished  to  say  fare 
well?" 

"  I  go,  but  a  longer  journey  than  you  thought.  I 
go  for  you,  Alaine.'1 

"  Oh,  no,  no  ;  I  cannot  let  you  do  that." 

"  For  your  father's  deliverance.  I  shall  bring  him 
back  to  you  if  he  be  alive  or  I  never  return." 

u  Pierre,  Pierre,  I  cannot  have  you  do  this  thing  for 
me.  Tell  me  what  you  intend.  Suppose  he,  the 
one  who  called  himself  your  master,  should  discover 
you,  what  then  ?" 

uThat  is  it,  but  I  shall  first  have  gained  your 
father's  release." 

"  No,  no,  I  cannot  consent ;  even  for  that  I  could 
not  let  you  take  such  risks." 

"  What  matters  it  ?  A  little  longer,  a  little  shorter 
time  and  all  is  over.  And  life  to  me  without  Alaine, 
what  would  it  be  anywhere  ?  The  supreme  joy,  the 
wonder  of  happiness  if  I  should  succeed  and  return  to 


THREE   PARTINGS  159 

find  you  mine,  Alainc,  it  is  worth  the  deepest  misery 
I  could  suffer.  To  see  you  happy,  even  if  I  miss  a 
supreme  joy  myself,  is  enough." 

"  Do  not,  do  not  say  that,"  she  murmured.  "  Ah, 
Pierre,  if  you  but  knew  how  unworthy  I  am  of  such 
love." 

"It  is  how  I  must  love.  Your  happiness  at  any 
cost.  I  have  seen  tears  in  your  eyes  because  of 
your  father's  condition,  and  could  I  hesitate  if  mine 
might  be  the  hand  to  wipe  them  away?  No,  no, 
beloved,  I  would  be  a  slave  forever  for  your  sweet 
sake  ;  it  would  glorify  my  days  to  wake  in  the  morn 
ing  and  say,  She  is  happy  there  in  her  home,  my 
Alaine ;  she  smiles,  she  sings,  and  God  has  let  me 
give  her  this  happiness.  Whatever  my  body  might 
suffer,  my  heart  would  sing  with  yours." 

Alaine's  tears  fell  softly.  "  Oh,  Pierre,  Pierre, 
such  great  love,  and  I " 

He  interrupted  her  hastily.  "  I  do  not  ask  yours. 
I  ask  only  to  do  this  for  you."  He  laid  his  hand  on 
her  head  and  smoothed  back  the  curling  locks  that 
strayed  from  under  her  little  cap.  "  Sweet  eyes,  dear 
lips."  He  gave  a  long,  shivering  sigh.  "  I  ask  no 
promise,  sweet." 

Alaine  lifted  her  tearful  eyes.  "  I  ought  to  give 
it,  Pierre,  for  I  do  not  forget  that  I  told  you  I  would 
marry  whom  my  father  should  desire." 

"  I  know  that,  but  I  would  not  have  you  bound 
even  so  much,  for  if  he  returned  without  me,  or  if 
neither  returned,  it  would  be  a  sad  waiting.  A 


160  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

year,  Alaine  ;  if  at  the  end  of  a  year  you  do  not  see 
your  father,  or  if  you  do  not  hear  from  him  or  from 
me,  you  must  be  free  to  do  whatever  seems  well  and 
good." 

"  But  your  plan,  Pierre,  tell  me  more  of  it." 

"  I  go  to  Manhatte  to-morrow  to  sail  by  a  vessel 
going  to  Guadaloupa."  He  did  not  tell  her  that  he 
had  shipped  as  a  common  sailor  and  would  thus 
work  his  passage,  saving  his  own  earnings  for  the 
use  of  Alaine's  father,  should  he  need  them. 

"And  there,  Pierre,  you  will  be  sure  to  find 
him." 

"  I  will  find  him  if  he  be  alive." 

She  put  both  hands  in  his.  "  Oh,  my  good  Pierre, 
so  good.  I  cannot  thank  you  enough.  I  feel  that  I 
ought  not  to  allow  this,  but " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  would  be  no  use  to  re 
fuse,  Alaine,  I  should  go ;  if  not  now,  at  some  other 
time.  You  cannot  keep  me.  I  desire  to  do  this 
thing  for  you.  Do  not  forbid  it  and  destroy  my  only 
joy  in  life." 

"  Then  I  will  not,  but  I  will  do  my  best  while  you 
are  away.  I  will  think  of  you  and  pray  for  you 
always,  night  and  day." 

"  And  if  I  do  not  return,  think  of  me  then  some 
times,  even  then,  Alaine." 

"  I  will.  I  will  always  think  of  you,  Pierre,  so 
noble,  so  brave,  so  unselfish." 

"  Hush,  hush,  dear  one,  it  is  for  my  own  pleasure 
that  I  go.  I  ask  but  this  :  one  kiss  to  bear  with  me 


THREE   PARTINGS  161 

as  a  remembrance,  perhaps  all  I  shall  ever  ask  of 
you." 

Alaine  almost  quailed  at  the  request.  She  had 
promised  to  be  true  to  one  lover ;  the  remembrance 
of  his  caresses,  his  kisses,  still  haunted  her  day  and 
night.  But  this  man,  ready  to  lay  down  his  life  for 
her,  could  she  refuse  him?  It  was  a  sacred  duty 
that  she  should  send  him  away  with  all  of  happiness 
and  hope  that  he  could  offer.  She  mutely  raised 
her  face  to  his,  and  he  kissed  her  as  it  were  a  sacra 
ment  he  took.  "  Adieu,  my  star.  Alaine,  I  am  yours, 
living  or  dead.  I  love  you  forever.  A  long  adieu, 
sweet  Alaine  ;  it  grows  late  and  you  will  be  missed. 
Leave  me  here.  Once  more,  adieu !" 

She  gave  him  her  hands  again  and  looked  long 
and  wistfully  into  his  face.  "Adieu,  Pierre,"  she 
said  at  last  and  turned  away.  Once  she  looked 
back  and  he  smiled ;  but  as  she  passed  out  of  sight, 
he  staggered  back  against  the  rocky  ledge  and  leaned 
there  white  to  the  lips.  And  Alaine,  as  she  went 
on  her  way  with  bowed  head,  struggled  to  keep 
down  the  rising  cry  of  her  heart,  "  Lendert,  Len- 
dert,  I  must  be  false  to  you ;  I  must  put  you  forever 
from  my  thoughts.  If  Pierre,  for  love  of  me,  can 
do  this  great  thing,  ought  I,  for  my  father's  sake, — 
for  Pierre's  sake, — to  do  less  ?  Forgive  me,  Lendert, 
God  knows  I  love  you." 

And  so  it  was  that  Pierre  sailed  away,  and  in  time 
Francois  recovered,  so  that  before  the  trees  were 
bare  he  was  well  enough  to  take  his  departure  too. 

11 


162  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  It  is  but  for  a  time,  mademoiselle,"  he  said  before 
parting.  "  1  do  not  go  far,  and  you  shall  see  me 
again ;  believe  me,  it  will  not  be  so  very  long  before 
you  see  me  again.  I  have  an  acute  perception  and  I 
watch ;  that  Pierre  has  gone,  no  one  seems  to  know 
why  or  where,  and  that  other,  our  friend  of  large 
proportions,  does  not  appear,  therefore  I  feel  that  I 
need  have  no  fear.  The  boy  Gerard  has  eyes  and 
ears  for  no  one  but  the  saucy  damsel  across  the  way, 
and  you  and  he  will  not  marry  yet,  in  spite  of  Mi 
chelle.  So  'tis  but  au  revoir,  mademoiselle,  and  I 
shall  see  you  before  we  see  these  trees  again  bare. 
I  trust  that  I  shall  some  day  prove  to  you  all  that  I 
am  not  ungrateful  for  your  care  of  me,  and  to  Mi 
chelle  most  of  all."  He  bowed  in  the  direction  of 
Michelle,  who  had  come  forward  and  now  stood  stiff 
and  uncompromising. 

"  You  owe  us  nothing,  monsieur,  but  the  consid 
eration  that  will  leave  us  to  ourselves,"  she  said. 
"Show  us  your  good  will  so  much  as  to  do  that, 
and  we  are  content." 

He  laughed.  "  I  should  be  as  impolite  as  that 
other  patient  of  yours  who  has  never  had  the  grace 
to  come  back  for  a  friendly  call."  He  glanced  at 
Alaine  as  he  spoke,  and  the  color  forsook  the  girl's 
face. 

But  Michelle  took  up  the  cudgels.  "  He  was  in 
no  way  under  obligation  to  do  that,  M.  Dupont. 
This  is  not  the  city  of  Paris  nor  of  Rouen,  where  to 
make  a  call  is  a  small  business.  These  are  troublous 


THREE   PARTINGS  163 

times,  and  our  guest  does  us  greater  favor  by  pro 
tecting  us  from  an  invading  foe  than  he  could  by  his 
presence  here.1' 

"  Oho  !  so  that  is  what  you  think,"  returned  Fran- 
9 ois.  "  M.  Mercier  here  could  tell  you  another  tale. 
He  is  busy,  that  friend  of  yours,  in  helping  M. 
Bayard  and  others  of  the  same  stripe  to  keep  secure. 
He  is  not  fond  of  the  Black  People,  nor  is  M. 
Bayard,  you  know.1'  He  watched  Alaine  narrowly, 
but  she  had  gone  around  to  Michelle's  side  and  stood 
leaning  upon  the  good  woman's  broad  shoulder. 

"  Well,  well,"  put  in  Papa  Louis,  cheerfully,  "  we 
will  not  quarrel  when  our  parting  is  so  near.  What 
ever  the  times  bring  forth,  the  condition  of  affairs  is 
due  neither  to  us  nor  to  our  visitors.  We  have  a 
common  foe  to  fight  and  must  make  common  cause 
at  last.  You,  monsieur,  have  given  us  reason  to 
believe  that  you  are  with  us  in  that,  and  why  dispute 
anything  else.1' 

"  In  faith,  what  else  could  I  do  ?"  returned  Fran 
cois,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  When  one  is  on  his 
back  and  scarce  able  to  lift  a  finger,  he  must  promise 
anything  that  will  save  his  scalp,  be  it  from  Iroquois 
or  Mohawk.  I  am  out  of  any  sort  of  a  fight,  as  you 
sue,  not  yet  being  able  to  hold  sword  or  pistol." 

For  all  that,  Michelle  warned  Papa  Louis  not  to 
let  monsieur  escape  without  being  sure  of  his  des 
tination,  and  to  be  careful  that  he  did  not  at  once 
join  the  French  to  discover  to  them  something  which 
might  be  detrimental  to  the  colony.  But  Francois 


164  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

either  suspected  or  else  had  his  own  reasons  for 
slipping  away  quietly,  for  one  night,  after  making 
something  of  a  display  of  his  plans  for  leaving  the 
next  day,  he  went  out,  ostensibly  to  see  one  of  the 
neighbors,  and  did  not  return.  Just  when  and  how 
he  left  the  village  no  one  seemed  to  know. 


CHAPTER    X 

ON    SHIPBOARD 

As  the  weeks  passed  Alaine  counted  them,  and  as  to 
one  month  was  added  two,  three,  and  at  last  six 
months  had  gone  by,  she  began  to  watch  and  listen 
and  hope  for  a  word  from  Pierre.  If  he  had  suc 
ceeded,  at  any  day  now  she  might  hope  to  see  her 
father.  She  resolutely  determined  to  put  from  her 
all  thought  of  Lendert  Verplanck,  for  not  a  word 
nor  sign  had  come  from  him.  "  He  loved  me  and 
left  me,"  she  sighed.  "  It  will  be  hard  to  forget, 
but  he  marries  that  other  whom  his  mother  has 
chosen,  and  for  me,  I  marry  Pierre,  God  willing." 

More  than  once  Mere  Michelle  brought  up  her 
darling  project.  "There  is  no  reason,  Alaine,  why 
you  and  Gerard  should  not  marry,  or  at  least  be 
acknowledged  fiancee,"  she  would  say. 

"  But  the  spring  will  soon  be  here,  and  we  shall 
all  be  busy." 

"  That  evil  wolf  may  return,  and  finding  you  still 
unmarried,  will  seek  to  devour  you.  Pierre  has  left 
to  seek  his  fortune  elsewhere, — see  Mathilde  de 
serted, — and  if  Gerard  in  the  heat  of  his  youth 
should  become  fretful  of  the  quiet  life  here,  he  might 
do  the  same ;  but  with  a  wife  and  home  interests  he 

165 


166  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

would  be  so  bound  by  silken  chains  that  he  would 
not  desire  to  leave  us." 

"Ah,  but,  maman,  these  are  uncertain  times  ;  look 
how  the  colony  is  rent  by  strife ;  and  suppose  the 
Jacobites  once  more  rise  into  power,  we  might  again 
find  it  necessary  to  take  flight,  and  what  then  ?  No, 
no,  neither  Gerard  nor  I  wish  to  leave  you,  and  on 
that  score  you  need  have  no  fear.  When  this  ques 
tion  of  government  and  war  is  settled  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  think  of  marriage.'"  And  Michelle,  for 
the  time  being,  would  be  silenced. 

The  destruction  of  Schenectady  by  the  French  and 
Indians,  the  arrival  of  Frontenac  as  governor  of 
Canada,  and  the  alarming  prospect  suggested  ab 
sorbed  the  attention  of  even  those  in  the  little  French 
settlement  of  New  Rochelle.  These  who  threatened 
them  were  their  own  countrymen,  and  to  them  this 
was  civil  war,  yet  they  believed  in  Jacob  Leisler. 
Had  he  not  conveyed  these  lands  to  them,  and  was 
he  not  the  friend  of  the  people  ?  And  did  not  this 
Frontenac  come  armed  with  terrible  orders  ?  It 
would  require  one  of  whose  religious  beliefs  there 
could  be  no  doubt  to  be  leader  for  those  who  shud 
dered  at  a  possibility  of  a  return  of  the  persecutions 
from  which  they  had  fled. 

"  Alas  !  Alas  !"  cried  Michelle,  striking  her  hands 
together,  when  Papa  Louis,  with  a  grave  face,  told  her 
of  the  disputes  among  the  different  factions.  u  It  is 
from  bad  to  worse.  Be  content  to  remain  at  home, 
Louis,  and  mix  not  up  with  affairs  of  government. 


ON    SHIPBOARD  167 

Your  head  may  yet  be  placed  on  a  pike,  and  how  will 
you  be  better  off  than  in  that  France  from  which 
you  have  escaped?  Till  your  fields,  say  your 
prayers,  and  keep  out  of  this." 

Papa  Louis  decided  to  follow  this  advice,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  ferment  in  the  city,  affairs  went  on 
quietly  enough  at  home  while  summer  came  and 
went. 

"  Months  since  Pierre  left  and  no  news  of  him," 
Alaine  said  to  Gerard,  as  the  summer  waned.  "  I 
fear  I  shall  never  see  my  father  again.  You,  who 
alone  know  why  Pierre  has  gone,  can  give  me  no 
comfort.  I  have  sent  him  into  slavery,  and  perhaps 
to  his  death.1' 

"  No,  no,  Alaine,  that  is  a  foolish  way  to  look  at  it. 
He  went  of  his  own  accord,  so  he  told  me,  and,  the 
good  Pierre,  he  bade  me  try  to  comfort  you.  It  may 
take  a  long  time  to  effect  his  purpose.  There  is  no 
reason  for  despair  as  yet.  The  vessels  are  slow  in 
going  and  coming,  and  who  knows  what  time  and 
caution  he  must  use  in  seeking  your  father  ?  Even 
to-day  a  message  may  be  on  its  way  to  you." 

Alaine  plucked  up  courage,  and  with  better  heart 
went  singing  to  her  work.  Michelle  and  Papa  Louis 
were  in  the  fields,  and  Gerard  had  just  come  to  the 
pump  to  quench  his  thirst.  "  Even  now  he  may  be 
on  his  way  to  me,"  Alaine  repeated.  "  If  he  returns 
it  means — what  may  it  not  mean  ?"  The  blood 
rushed  to  her  face  and  brow.  "  Alas,  my  Lendert," 
she  murmured,  but  instantly  she  shook  her  head  as 


168  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

if  to  put  away  too  intrusive  a  thought  and  continued 
her  spinning. 

She  had  hardly  recommenced  her  song  when  the 
latch  of  the  door  was  lifted,  and  she  saw  before  her 
a  tall  Indian.  He  gravely  unrolled  from  a  piece  of 
deer-skin  a  small  packet  and  handed  it  to  her,  then 
turned  and  walked  out  without  a  word.  With  trem 
bling  fingers  Alaine  undid  the  packet.  On  a  bit  of 
bark  a  few  words  were  written  :  "  Meet  rne  at  the 
cave  at  sunset.  I  have  news  for  you.  Tell  no  one, 
but  come  alone,  or  there  may  be  danger  for  one  you 
love. — Pierre." 

Alaine  stared  at  the  bark,  turned  it  over,  and  then 
hid  it  away.  It  was  as  Gerard  had  said  ;  a  message 
was  truly  on  its  way  to  her ;  one  would  almost  think 
it  a  prophecy.  It  seemed  as  if  the  moments  were 
doubly  long  that  day,  but  at  last  the  hours  of  labor 
were  over,  and  the  girl,  all  impatient  expectation, 
stole  down  to  the  well-known  spot.  She  wondered 
why  the  secrecy.  What  had  happened  ?  Why  did 
not  Pierre  approach  boldly,  there  in  the  village 
where  all  his  friends  were?  She  was  anxious,  ap 
prehensive,  yet  so  eager  that  she  ran  all  the  way  to 
the  shore,  hoping  no  one  else  would  be  there.  She 
glanced  around  ;  all  was  still ;  the  place  was  deserted, 
for  the  weary  workers  in  the  fields  did  not  care  to  do 
other  than  rest  from  their  labors.  Upon  the  water 
a  little  way  out  rocked  a  large  sailing-vessel,  its  white 
sails  catching  the  evening  light.  Perhaps — she  hardly 
dared  think  it — her  father  was  on  board ;  it  might 


ON   SHIPBOARD  169 

be  that  it  was  on  his  account  there  was  need  of 
secrecy.  She  looked  around  ;  no  one  was  near ;  but 
presently  from  the  vessel  a  little  boat  put  out,  and 
when  it  touched  the  shore  a  man  leaped  ashore. 

"You  await  Pierre  Boutillier?"  he  asked,  in  good 
French. 

"Yes,"  Alaine  replied,  eagerly. 

"  He  asks  if  you  will  let  me  conduct  you  to  yon 
der  ship,  where  he  can  confer  with  you  without 
observation." 

"  Why  did  he  not  come  himself?"  Alaine  asked, 
drawing  back. 

"  He  had  the  misfortune  to  trip  over  a  coil  of  rope 
and  sprain  his  ankle.  He  is  clumsy,  that  Pierre." 
The  man  looked  at  her  with  a  bright,  quizzical 
smile. 

Alaine  drew  herself  up.  "  He  is  not,  then,  but  he 
is  no  sailor,  rather  a  husbandman.  Lead  the  way. 
I  follow."  She  spoke  with  a  haughty  air,  and  the 
man  started  on  ahead,  but  cast  frequent  glances  over 
his  shoulder  to  see  if  she  were  yet  behind  him.  She 
carne  on  with  a  light  tread  and  stepped  without  hesi 
tation  into  the  little  boat,  which  quickly  took  her  out 
to  the  larger  vessel  anchored  beyond.  She  was  then 
helped  on  board  and  conducted  to  a  cabin,  seeing  no 
one  on  her  way  but  a  few  sailors  lounging  on  deck. 

"  I  will  tell  monsieur  that  you  have  arrived,"  said 
her  conductor,  "and  myself  will  assist  him  hither." 
He  then  withdrew. 

"  It  is  strange,"  thought  Alaine,  "  that  Pierre  was 


170  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

not  on  deck  to  meet  me.  He  is  perhaps  badly  hurt ; 
he  is  unfortunate,  poor  Pierre.  Only  for  my  father 
would  I  have  consented  to  come.  Why  does  he  not 
arrive,  that  Pierre  ?"  She  grew  impatient  as  the 
moments  passed,  and  at  last  determined  to  go  her 
self  and  seek  her  friend.  She  tried  the  door  of  the 
little  room  ;  it  was  fast.  "  Pierre  !  Pierre  !"  she 
called.  There  was  no  response.  Overhead  she 
could  hear  the  tread  of  the  sailors  or  the  dragging 
of  ropes  across  the  deck.  "Pierre!  Pierre!"  Out 
side  the  sea-gulls  dipped  their  free  wings  in  the 
dancing  waves.  She  could  see  their  white  breasts 
as  they  swept  past  the  open  port-hole.  "  He  can 
not  have  forgotten  me,"  she  murmured.  "  What 
does  this  mean?" 

Suddenly  she  raised  her  hands  above  her  head 
with  a  great  cry.  This  was  a  plot,  and  who  had 
designed  it?  She  sank  moaning  to  the  floor,  and 
sat  there,  her  hands  tightly  clasped,  till  the  glory  of 
the  golden  sky  paled  to  gray,  then  the  soft  twilight 
descended ;  night  came  on.  The  girl  did  not  move 
except  once  in  a  while  to  ease  her  position.  The 
sound  of  sailors  singing,  the  shuffle  of  feet,  the  rattle 
of  chains,  the  splash  of  the  water  against  the  sides  of 
the  vessel,  these  were  what  reached  her  ears  strained 
to  catch  the  least  sound.  Darkness  had  settled 
down,  when,  by  the  tossing  of  the  ship  and  the 
increased  movement  overhead,  she  discovered  that 
the  vessel  was  moving.  She  started  up  with  a 
great  cry  and  then  a  fury  of  despair  seized  her.  She 


ON   SHIPBOARD  171 

beut  on  the  door,  shrieking,  "  Poltroons  !  Knaves  ! 
Thieves  !  Thieves  !  Is  there  no  one  here  to  listen  ? 
I  go  mad !  I  kill  myself,  you  there,  who  will  not 
rescue  me !" 

The  door  opened  at  last ;  a  lantern  swung  before 
her ;  its  rays  flashed  on  the  face  of  the  man  she 
feared ;  Francois  Dupont  stood  before  her.  She 
gave  one  wild  cry  of  fear  and  horror,  but  the  next 
moment  bravely  faced  him.  "You!"  she  said,  in 
such  scorn  that  he  made  a  step  back.  In  a  moment 
he  drew  nearer,  and  she  saw  his  face  wore  its  usual 
smile  of  assurance  and  audacity. 

"  It  is  I  in  truth,  Mademoiselle  Alaine.  You  re 
member  I  vowed  that  we  should  not  be  separated 
long.  'Whither  thou  goest,' I  said.  I  am  forced  to 
travel,  behold  you  are  here  to  accompany  me. 
Since  you  would  not  have  come  by  invitation  from 
me,  I  was  obliged  to  consider  myself  the  proxy  of 
M.  Boutillier,  for  all  is  fair  in  a  case  of  this  kind. 
I  am  not  ungenerous,  fair  Alaine,  as  you  will  see ; 
I  give  you  the  key  to  your  cabin ;  you  shall  not  be 
disturbed.  I  regret  the  voyage  is  not  to  your  liking, 
but  that  is  all  I  regret.  I  desire  to  take  you  to 
Canada  with  me  as  my  wife.  We  have  a  good  priest 
aboard  who  can  unite  us.  You  refuse  ?" 

"I  refuse,"  Alaine  replied,  curtly,  but  with  trem 
bling  lips. 

"  I  feared  that  you  would  not  accept  me  at  once, 
nor  even  upon  two  or  three  urgings.  We  go  to 
Canada,  as  I  said ;  if  by  the  time  we  reach  that  place 


172  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

you  still  consider  my  suit  unfavorably,  we  can  ex 
tend  the  voyage ;  we  can  go  to  France,  to  Rouen ; 
there  you  have  the  opportunity  of  choosing  between 
your  cousin  fitienne  and  myself.  I  am  generous, 
yes  ?  They  would  say,  our  friends  there  in  our  be 
loved  France,  how  he  has  worked  for  the  good  of 
this  obstinate  little  lady  !  How  he  has  suffered,  that 
poor  Fran§ois,  that  he  might  bring  her  back  to  her 
own,  to  those  to  whom  she  rightly  belongs,  the  per 
verse  little  one  !  But  they  will  forgive,  yes,  they  will 
forgive  ;  the  good  Father  Bisset  says  so." 

"Father  Bisset?"  The  words  came  in  whispered 
surprise. 

"  The  same ;  it  is  he  of  whom  I  spoke  a  moment 
ago.  He  is  here.  If  you  would  like  to  see  him,  he 
awaits  us.  We  will  have  a  little  supper  together. 
Permit  me  to  escort  you,  mademoiselle."  He  held 
the  lantern  high  and  looked  questioningly  at  the 
girl's  pale  face.  She  refused  his  proffered  hand,  but 
mechanically  walked  with  him  to  the  larger  cabin, 
where  the  kindly  face  of  her  old  friend  met  her 
vision. 

With  a  cry  of  mingled  grief  and  pleasure  she  ran 
forward.  Here  was  one  who  had  never  failed  in  his 
gentle  consideration,  in  his  mild  guidance,  his  loving 
reproof.  At  once  she  fell  under  the  spell  of  his 
presence.  "  Oh,  my  good  father,  save  me !"  she 

T)Pcrcrn(1 
•^CODCU- 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  loving  smile.  "  I 
ought  not  to  have  a  word  to  say  to  you,  little  run- 


ON   SHIPBOARD  173 

away  ;  yet  must  we  forgive  when  forgiveness  is  sought, 
and  you  are  my  spiritual  child." 

Alaine  made  no  response,  but  clung  to  him.  The 
old  man  nodded  assurance  as  she  mutely  searched 
his  face.  u  Be  not  troubled,  my  child.  You  are 
safe.  And  when  did  Father  Bisset  ever  do  you  a 
wrong?  Come,  you  are  weary.  M.  Dupont  has 
provided  a  good  supper  for  us.  Dry  your  eyes,  my 
daughter,  and  join  us  at  table.  One  may  as  well 
partake  of  good  things  when  they  are  set  before 
him." 

Alaine  suffered  herself  to  be  led  to  the  table,  and 
made  a  light  supper,  while  her  two  companions  kept 
up  a  race  of  trivial  talk,  full  of  lively  anecdote,  by 
which  the  girl  was  entertained  in  spite  of  herself. 
They  sat  a  long  time  at  table,  and  when  he  arose 
Francois  said,  "  Marie  shall  attend  you  whenever 
you  wish  to  go  to  your  room  ;  meanwhile,  I  will 
leave  you  to  the  company  of  Father  Bisset,  who,  I 
doubt  not,  will  be  more  agreeable  to  you  than  my 
self.  Pleasant  dreams,  Mademoiselle  Alaine.  Be 
fore  we  part  for  the  night,  I  drink  to  our  future." 
He  took  up  a  cup  of  wine  and  tossed  it  off,  then, 
with  a  bowr  and  a  good-night,  left  them. 

Father  Bisset  sat  silently,  leaning  one  arm  on 
the  table,  and  looked  long  and  earnestly  at  the 
sad  face  before  him.  After  a  time  he  came  over 
and  drew  a  seat  close  to  her  side.  "  My  daugh 
ter,"  he  said,  "  you  can  trust  Jacques  Bisset.  He 
is  old,  he  is  weak  in  body,  and  he  has  not  a 


174  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

great  mind,  but  he  can  endure,  lie  can  suffer;  he 
can  perhaps  use  a  little  strategy."  He  bent  nearer 
and  whispered,  "Do  not  seem  surprised;  he  is  also 
Protestant,  this  old  man.  Hush !  we  must  dis 
semble."  Then  louder:  "Yes,  my  child,  it  seems 
good  to  have  you  again  under  my  guidance."  Again 
his  voice  dropped.  "This  Frangois  Dupont," — he 
glanced  cautiously  around, —  "  he  believes  me  to  be 
still  a  papist ;  he  had  not  heard  otherwise,  it  seems, 
and,  as  it  happened,  he  was  the  first  to  meet  me  as 
I  landed  in  New  York  a  day  or  two  ago.  '  Ho, 
Father  Bisset,'  he  cried,  'you  have  come  to  the 
wrong  port.  If,  as  I  suppose,  you  are  come  on  a 
mission  to  this  wild  land,  you  should  have  been 
better  informed.  They  are  all  loud-mouthed  for  the 
Protestant  William  and  Mary,  and  you'll  stand  a 
poor  showing  here.  I  would  advise  you  to  get  out 
of  the  colony  as  soon  as  possible.  I  have  it,'  he 
cried,  after  a  moment's  thought,  '  I  will  direct  you 
to  a  safe  retreat.'  'Thanks,  monsieur,'  I  answered,  'I 
think  I  can  find  my  way.'  'At  all  events,'  he  said, 
'  I  will  send  some  one  to  guide  you  to  a  fair  lodging.' 
A  stranger  and  acquainted  with  little  Dutch  and  no 
English,  I  was  not  averse  to  accepting  the  offer,  and 
I  have  not  a  great  head-piece,  my  child,  so  I  followed 
my  guide,  who  brought  me  to  a  lonely  spot  by  a  run 
ning  river  and  bade  me  step  aboard  a  little  boat  that 
I  might  be  ferried  across  stream.  Ferried  I  was,  but 
no  farther  than  to  mid-stream,  when  I  was  seized 
bodily  and  brought  aboard  this  ship." 


ON   SHIPBOARD  175 

He  gave  a  little  low  chuckle.  "  I  have  not  pro 
tested  as  yet,  for  I  am  well  fed  and  comfortably 
lodged,  and  my  religious  beliefs  have  not  been  ques 
tioned.  I  do  not  announce  them,  but  allow  them  to 
be  taken  for  granted.  So,  my  child,  let  us  be  watch 
ful  and  wary  and  we  shall  yet  find  that  this  adven 
ture  will  work  to  our  benefit.  I  am  supposed  to 
take  you  under  my  instruction,  and  I  do  not  object." 
Again  the  familiar  chuckle  rejoiced  Alaine's  heart. 
"  We  will  outwit  Fra^ois  Dupont,  and  he  will  be 
none  the  wiser  of  our  intent." 

Alaine  listened  eagerly  to  all  this,  and  her  spirits 
rose  as  the  genial  old  priest  went  on :  "  Francois 
warned  me,  just  after  we  set  sail,  that  I  should  see 
you,  and  I  was  prepared,  therefore  I  showed  no  sur 
prise.  He  is  not  a  religious  enthusiast,  and  will 
not  notice  what  my  devotions  may  be.  It  will  not 
harm  any  one  if  I  say  my  Pater  Noster  in  Latin,  and 
the  good  God  will  hear  it  just  the  same.  Therefore 
observe  me  without  disapproval  if  you  can.  The 
end  sometimes  justifies  the  means,  and  I  pray  I  may 
be  forgiven  if  I  use  covert  means  for  your  sake  as 
well  as  my  own.  '  Wise  as  a  serpent  and  harmless 
as  a  dove/  that  is  what  one  should  be,  and  to  wisdom 
we  must  add  patience." 

"You  will  tell  me  some  day  of  how  you  made 
your  escape  from  France,  dear  Father  Bisset  ?  There 
is  much  that  I  wish  to  hear." 

"You  shall  hear  it  at  some  convenient  time. 
Meanwhile,  we  must  be  careful  of  our  conversa- 


176  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

tion ;  there  are  sharp  ears  about,"  he  added,  signifi 
cantly. 

Alaine  looked  up  quickly  and  saw  the  dark  face 
of  Marie  looking  at  her  from  a  dim  corner.  She 
started,  for  it  brought  to  mind  the  fact  that  she  was 
again  a  prisoner,  and  although  seemingly  free,  the 
blue  waters  encircling  her  were  safer  bonds  than 
fetters  of  steel. 

" '  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,1  "  murmured 
Father  Bisset.  "  May  the  good  angel  guard  you,  my 
child." 

Alaine  made  the  same  respectful  obeisance  she 
had  been  wont  to  use  as  a  child,  and  then  turned  to 
Marie.  "  I  am  ready  to  retire,"  she  said.  And  the 
last  thing  of  which  she  was  conscious  before  she 
dropped  off  to  sleep  was  that  Marie's  vigilant  eyes 
seemed  to  watch  her  even  there  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER    XI 

FROM    SHIP    TO    SHORE 

To  get  rid  of  Marie  and  to  escape, — the  thought 
recurred  to  Alaine  over  and  over  again  for  the  next 
few  days.  She  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  watch  the 
sea-birds,  and,  when  she  was  not  talking  to  Father 
Bisset,  the  time  hung  heavily  on  her  hands.  The 
good  old  man,  be  it  said,  had  given  no  cause  for 
suspicion  of  his  being  a  renegade  priest,  and,  indeed, 
his  lifelong  manner  of  speech  and  his  pious  ejacula 
tions  were  too  much  a  matter  of  habit  to  evidence 
any  change  in  his  opinions.  Francois,  on  his  part, 
exercised  quite  as  much  acumen  in  treating  Alaine 
with  deference  and  in  seldom  forcing  his  society 
upon  her. 

"  She  will  more  readily  accept  the  inevitable  if  I 
leave  her  to  your  persuasive  arguments,"  he  said  to 
the  ex-priest,  confidentially.  "  Ma  foi !  but  she  has 
a  fine  temper.  Yet  it  is  not  a  bad  alternative.  I 
am  not  so  evil  nor  so  cruel  as  I  seem,  good  father, 
despite  my  having  small  interest  in  religious  matters. 
I  prefer  the  Church  to  no  church,  naturally,  but  I  do 
not  trouble  myself  to  go  further.  I  hear  Mass ;  I 
make  my  confession ;  it  is  enough.  You  may  not 
consider  that  as  sufficient  for  the  husband  of  Alaine, 

12  177 


178  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

yet  better  that  than  a  Huguenot,  you  will  say.  We 
will  return  to  France  after  a  time,  and  I  keep  my 
promise  ;  yes,  I  am  not  all  evil,  for  I  swear  I  shall  try 
to  deliver  M.  Hervieu.  That  may  not  agree  with 
what  you  approve  ;  you  may  believe  he  should  suffer 
his  punishment,  but  I  am  not  so  tenacious.  Do  not 
shake  your  head,  good  father,  you  too  will  use  your 
good  offices  for  him  ;  for  if  Alaine  prefers  to  remain 
in  a  convent  for  a  year,  I  shall  take  you  to  Guada- 
loupa  and  on  the  return  voyage  an  opportunity  is 
afforded  you  to  deal  artfully  yet  gently  with  the 
erring  man,  who  by  this  will  probably  be  glad  enough 
to  escape  the  experiences  of  an  engage.  And  so  all 
goes  well.'1 

"But,  my  son,"  expostulated  Father  Bisset,  "my 
mission  is  not  to  accompany  you  upon  your  travels." 

"But,  good  Father,  consider  the  reward.  You 
come  to  America  upon  mission  work.  What  is 
better  than  such  an  opportunity?  And  I  promise 
you  afterwards  you  shall  go  your  ways  and  I  will  do 
my  utmost  for  you.  I  will  give  you  a  heavy  purse 
to  further  your  good  works.  In  the  long  run  you 
will  gain." 

"  But,  my  son,  I  cannot  see  why  this  little  Alaine 
should  be  so  great  a  prize  that  you  take  all  this 
trouble.  Is  it  not  rather  fitienne  who  should  marry 
her?" 

"fitienne!"  Fra^ois  clinched  his  fist.  "He 
shall  never  have  her.  At  first — but  I  will  not  go 
into  that, — it  is  sufficient  that  now  I  wish  to  marry 


FROM   SHIP   TO   SHORE  179 

her,  and  I  shall  move  heaven  and  earth  to  accom 
plish  my  object." 

"Softly,  softly,  my  son.  Heaven  is  not  to  be 
moved  for  the  accomplishment  of  human  desires." 

Francois  laughed.  "  Then  I  will  say  that  I  mean 
to  use  every  human  endeavor  to  make  it  possible  to 
marry  Alaine  Hervieu,  and  when  a  resolution  takes 
possession  of  me  I  am  not  one  to  give  it  up 
easily." 

The  old  man  softly  patted  together  the  out 
stretched  tips  of  his  fingers  and  thoughtfully  looked 
out  upon  the  water.  "  Alaine  was  never  a  child  to 
be  coerced,"  he  said. 

"  In  matters  of  religion,  perhaps  not,  but  in  mat 
ters  of  the  heart  a  woman  yields  to  him  who  proves 
himself  her  master,  who  does  not  cringe  nor  sue, 
but  who  gives  her  no  chance  to  say  no  to  him. 
For  that  reason,  Father  Bisset,  I  leave  you  to  do  your 
part  by  moral  suasion  while  I  direct  the  other  mat 
ter  with  a  high  hand.  It  was  through  her  affections 
entirely  that  she  was  won  over  to  the  Huguenots, 
and  through  her  affections  it  is  for  you  to  win  her 
back,  first  by  mild  discourse,  and  secondly  by  pro 
ducing  a  father  who  has  conformed  to  your  belief. 
I  think  by  playing  your  cards  properly — I  beg  your 
pardon,  by  using  the  gentle  means  you  know  so 
well  how  to  employ,  that  you  will  soon  win  her  to 
your  way  of  thinking.  That  is  all  I  ask  of  you." 

"  And  you  will  not  be  disappointed,"  returned  the 
wily  old  man.  u  I  feel  sure  that  we  shall  both  be 


180  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

of  one  mind,  Alaine  and  I,  when  we  leave  the  ship, 
Monsieur  Dupont." 

u  So  soon  ?"  Francois  struck  his  hands  together  in 
satisfied  approval.  "As  soon  as  this?  You  are 
doing  well,  Father."  He  laughed.  "  How  sweet  is 
revenge  !  There  is  nothing  so  sweet." 

"Except  forgiveness,1'  returned  the  other,  gently. 

Francois  got  up  and  walked  the  deck  excitedly. 
"I  say  revenge.  By  the  saints,  but  I  shall  have 
won,  if  not  in  all  directions,  at  least  in  one."  He 
stepped  closer  to  the  old  man.  "  And  I  reckon  on 
you,  Father  Bisset,  to  make  it  possible  for  me  to  win 
in  both.  Alaine  vows  she  will  marry  no  one  whom 
her  father  does  not  favor ;  the  inference  is  obvious. 
Behold  your  son-in-law,  good  Monsieur  Hervieu, 
bondman  over  there  in  Guadaloupa.  I  come  to  your 
assistance."  He  blew  a  kiss  from  his  finger-tips. 
"You  are  grateful,  monsieur,  and  with  our  good 
priest's  help  I  shall  endeavor  to  find  a  way  to  per 
suade  you  to  agree  with  me,  when  I  endeavor  to 
show  you  why  I  should  prove  to  be  an  acceptable 
husband  for  your  daughter.  I  have  come  far  to 
satisfy  my  desires ;  I  shall  not  return  ungratified." 

"  And  your  destination  on  this  voyage  ?"  inquired 
Father  Bisset. 

"  Is  Canada.  We  place  Alaine  with  the  good 
sisters,  who  will  complete  the  work  you  have  so  well 
begun." 

Father  Bisset's  eyelids  drooped  over  his  eyes  to 
hide  the  sudden  anxiety  which  leaped  up  into  them. 


FROM   SHIP   TO   SHORE  181 

u  But  suppose,  my  good  sir,  that  Alaine  should 
prefer  the  life  of  a  religious  to  the  name  of  Madame 
Dupont.11 

u  Ah-h,  that  she  must  not  do  !"  Francois  paused 
in  his  walk. 

Father  Bisset  watched  him.  "  Would  it  not  be 
well,  then,  that  they  be  warned  that  she  is  fiancee, 
and  that  all  we  require  is  good  guidance,  and  not 
that  she  enter  the  convent  to  become  one  of  them  ? 
You,  of  course,  will  know  what  line  of  argument 
to  use,  and  how  best  to  incline  them  toward  this 
result." 

Francis  looked  thoughtfully  seaward.  "  I  ?  No, 
I  do  not.  As  I  have  told  you,  I  was  never  an 
enthusiast  in  matters  of  religion.  What  shall  I 
say?11 

"  More  depends  upon  the  manner  of  saying  than 
upon  the  words,11  replied  Father  Bisset,  astutely. 
"  One  should  know  well  how  to  choose  his  words. 
It  is  a  pity  that  you  are  not  a  more  saintly  man,1'  he 
added,  as  it  were,  regretfully. 

"Then,  my  dear  Father,  I  must  rely  upon  you, 
and  shall  commit  the  matter  into  your  hands,  first 
exacting  a  promise  from  you  that  you  will  not  lose 
sight  of  Alaine  a  moment  till  she  is  safely  estab 
lished.11 

"  I  can  give  you  my  word  that  I  shall  not  allow 
her  to  leave  my  presence  for  a  single  instant  till  she 
is  safely  established,11  Father  Bisset  returned,  with 
emphasis,  and  the  eyes,  which  a  moment  before 


182  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

were  downcast  to  hide  their  anxiety,  were  again 
dropped  to  hide  their  triumph. 

"  She  can  be  very  obstinate,  that  demoiselle,1'  said 
Francois,  after  a  pause.  "  It  must  be  for  you  to 
persuade  her  to  go.  In  this  instance  a  hint  from 
me  would  cause  rebellion.1" 

"  I  think  I  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  persuading 
her.  She  has  obeyed  me  from  infancy,  and  the 
habit  of  a  lifetime,  albeit  but  a  short  life,  is  not  easily 
broken." 

"  Good !"  cried  Francois.  "  It  was  a  lucky  day 
when  I  ran  across  you  there  in  New  York.  The 
saints  be  praised  that  I  did.  I  have  not  made  our 
voyage  altogether  distasteful  to  you,  I  hope,  although 
I  forced  it  upon  you.  Mademoiselle  there  grows 
triste.  What  is  she  reading?" 

"A  little  book  of  devotion  which  I  happened  to 
have  with  me,"  returned  Father  Bisset ;  but  he  gave 
a  quick  look  at  Alaine,  who,  in  a  sunny  corner,  had 
been  reading  intently. 

The  old  man  walked  nonchalantly  toward  her. 
She  looked  up  with  a  smile  and  put  into  his  hand 
the  book,  which  he  slipped  into  an  inner  pocket.  "  I 
trust  you  have  found  it  profitable  reading,  my  daugh 
ter,"  he  said,  seriously. 

"  I  think  so,  Father." 

Fran£ois  did  not  see  the  sudden  amused  expres 
sion  which  played  around  Father  Bisset's  mouth  as 
he  saw  the  satisfied  look  upon  the  young  man's  face 
when  he  turned  away. 


FROM   SHIP   TO    SHORE  183 

Alaine  made  room  by  her  side  for  her  old  friend. 
"  Well  ?"  she  said,  eagerly,  when  Fra^ois  was  out 
of  hearing. 

"All  is  well,"  she  was  told.  "I  think  we  may 
hope  to  escape  once  we  reach  Canada.  You,  of 
course,  refuse  to  marry  here  on  shipboard." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Then  you  go  to  a  nunnery." 

"Oh!" 

"  I  go  with  you  to  prepare  the  nuns  for  the  part 
they  are  to  act  toward  you.  That  will  be  our 
opportunity.  Do  not  look  so  glad.  You  must  as 
sume  a  pensive  and  troubled  air.  That  is  better. 
As  we  near  land  you  must  seem  distressed,  uncer 
tain,  shy,  even  of  me,  and  at  times  silent  and  thought 
ful.  M.  Dupont  will  urge  you  at  the  last  to  marry 
him,  and  you  say  you  will  refuse.  Very  good." 
The  old  man  hesitated  a  moment,  then  said.  "  But, 
my  daughter,  it  is  a  true  intention  of  his  to  try  for  the 
release  of  your  father.  Will  you,  then,  remain  in  the 
convent  to  await  his  return  ?" 

"  Oh,  Father,  that  is  a  hard  question.  How  shall 
I  answer  it  ?" 

uAs  your  conscience  dictates.  Can  you  stand 
steadfast  till  our  return  ?  There  will  be  much  press 
ure  brought  to  bear  upon  you.  And  will  you  run 
the  risk  of  our  finding  your  father  no  longer  alive 
and  of  a  forced  return  to  France  for  you  with  Fran- 
£ois  Dupont?" 

"But  my  father,  if  he  should  be  living?      Advise 


184  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

me,  I  beg  of  you,  for  I  cannot  see  what  is 
right." 

"  Could  you  stand  the  privations,  the  experiences 
you  would  have  to  endure  in  a  flight  to  the  colonies 
with  only  this  old  man  as  your  protector?" 

"I  should  not  be  afraid  to  risk  it." 

"Then,  my  beloved  daughter,  I  advise  you  to 
escape  while  you  can.  We  cannot  tell  how  the 
bonds  may  tighten  around  you,  and  it  may  be  too 
late  a  year,  or  even  six  months,  from  now.  We 
would  best  seize  the  opportunity  while  we  may.  I 
know  your  father  would  so  desire  it,  and  you  tell  me 
there  is  another  working  for  his  deliverance.  We 
\vill  trust  God  for  that  to  be  accomplished  and  get 
away  when  we  can." 

"  Ah,  Father,  how  fortunate  a  day  when  I  chanced 
upon  you  !"  sighed  Alaine. 

He  smiled  as  he  remembered  that  Franyois  had 
said  the  same  words  a  few  minutes  before.  "  One 
must  sometimes  dissemble  when  it  is  for  good,"  the 
old  man  told  himself.  "  I  am  no  longer  a  Jesuit,  but 
I  have  not  been  one  without  learning  that  stratagem 
is  often  better  than  open  rebellion." 

Under  her  friend's  advice  and  leadership  Alaine 
so  comforted  herself  that  Fra^ois  with  satisfaction 
viewed  the  quiet,  somewhat  pensive  mien.  "We 
are  taming  the  wild  bird.  I  shall  yet  see  you  come 
at  my  bidding,  Alaine,  with  the  fluttering  wings,  and 
when  we  return  to  France  and  I  face  fitienne  Ville- 
neau,  what  joy !"  He  laughed  to  himself  as  he 


FROM    SHIP   TO    SHORE  185 

leaned  over  the  side  of  the  vessel.  But  after  a 
moment  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  blue  sky.  "Thou 
up  there  wilt  understand  that  I  do  this  for  thee,  for 
thee,"  he  murmured. 

In  the  dim  distance  a  faint  line  of  shore  indicated 
that  they  were  nearing  the  great  river.  Alaine  by 
Father  Bisset's  side  watched  it  grow  more  and  more 
distinct.  For  many  days  she  had  felt  comparatively 
safe,  but  now  would  soon  come  a  crisis.  If  at  the 
last  moment  the  plot  failed ;  if  Francois  should  in 
sist  upon  accompanying  them  himself,  or  should 
send  Marie  to'see  that  she  reached  the  destination  he 
intended  for  her,  what  then  ?  Marie,  herself,  silent, 
vigilant,  unapproachable,  might  be  suspicious  and 
might  follow  them.  Alaine  confided  her  fears  to 
Father  Bisset. 

"I  have  thought  of  all  that,"  he  replied.  "I, 
myself,  am  not  sure  of  the  woman,  the  other  I  can 
manage.  I  am  prepared  for  that.  We  must  put 
our  trust  in  the  Lord,  my  daughter,  he  will  deliver 
us  from  the  snare  of  the  fowler.  'Many  sorrows 
shall  be  to  the  wicked,  but  he  that  trusteth  in  the 
Lord,  mercy  shall  compass  him  about.1 ' 

A  roundabout  way  it  was,  this  by  water  all  the 
way  to  Quebec  by  the  outside  route,  but  Fran£ois 
had  his  reasons  for  selecting  it.  His  prisoners  had 
no  means  of  escape,  and  Alaine  would  be  the  longer 
under  the  tutelage  of  Father  Bisset.  It  was  some 
time  after  they  had  entered  upon  the  voyage  that  the 
young  man  approached  Alaine.  "  Mademoiselle," 


186  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

he  began,  "  we  are  going  to  Quebec.  You  will  not 
find  it  a  bad  place.  Will  you  enter  it  as  Madame 
Francis  Dupont?"  He  stood  regarding  her  with  a 
grave  courtesy. 

"Monsieur,"  returned  Alaine,  sweetly,  "I  am  not 
indifferent  to  the  compliment  you  pay  me,  but  I 
cannot  accept  your  name." 

"You  prefer  the  convent?  Then,  mademoiselle, 
if  in  six  months  or  a  year  hence  I  return  with  your 
father  as  my  companion  I  may  claim  you  from  the 
good  nuns,  who  will  guard  you  well  I  feel  as 
sured.1' 

Alaine  made  no  reply,  and  he  went  on.  "  I  under 
stand  that  you  are  willing  to  accept  him  whom  your 
father  shall  desire  to  receive  as  his  son-in-law.  Am 
I  not  right?" 

Alaine  gave  a  hasty  glance  at  Father  Bisset.  The 
question  was  a  hard  one  to  answer  evasively.  "  Six 
months,  a  year  is  a  long  time,"  she  at  length  replied, 
after  some  hesitation.  "  How  can  one  promise  what 
one  may  do  in  that  time  ?" 

"  Then  we  will  leave  it  so,  and  I  will  rest  content 
that  you  will  bide  by  your  father's  selection  and  do 
his  bidding." 

"  I  think  I  can  promise  that." 

"  That  gives  me  hope  sufficient,  my  fiance'e.  Soon 
we  must  part  for  a  season.  Father  Bisset  will  par 
ley  with  the  good  sisters  better  than  I.  He  will 
conduct  you  to  them,  and  then  he  will  return  to  me. 
Is  it  no  consolation  to  you,  mademoiselle,  that  this 


FROM   SHIP   TO   SHORE  187 

same  genial  father  goes  with  me  to  Guadaloupa  to 
help  me  in  my  quest  of  releasing  your  father  ?" 

"  Whoever  has  the  good  fortune  to  be  under  the 
guardianship  of  Father  Bisset  is  indeed  fortunate," 
replied  Alaine.  "  If  monsieur  is  to  be  honored  by 
such  company,  he  is  indeed  blest." 

Francois  bowed,  and  then,  with  a  laugh,  said, 
"  This  time  I  am  not  able  to  say,  '  Whither  thou 
goest,'  is  it  not  so  ?  I  do  not  keep  my  word  in  this 
instance,  but  it  is  because  I  cannot." 

"  No,  monsieur,  you  cannot  say  that,  since  it  will 
probably  be  many  days  before  we  meet,  and  there 
will  soon  be  many  miles  between  us." 

"  Can  you  lay  any  discourtesy  to  my  charge  since 
you  have  been  taken  this  enforced  journey  ?" 

"  No,  M.  Dupont ;  I  have  been  treated  with  every 
consideration.  I  might  have  preferred  a  more  agree 
able  maid,  but  not  a  more  faithful  one  could  I  have 
selected,  and  of  your  own  conduct,  of  that  of  your 
sailing-master  and  his  men,  I  have  no  complaint  to 
make." 

"  For  that  much  grace  my  thanks.  I  trust  that 
mademoiselle  when  she  is  established  in  the  convent 
will  remember  me  with  a  little  less  aversion,  and 
will  reflect  that,  though  I  may  seem  at  times  to 
have  been  discourteous,  my  rudenesses  have  never 
been  directed  to  her,  and,  despite  the  fact  that  I 
have  more  than  once  given  her  no  choice  in  the 
matter  of  travel,  I  have  had  her  own  good  in  view. 
Perish  her  enemies  !  I  have  taken  for  my  watchword. 


188  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Father  Bisset  there  tells  me  that  forgiveness  is 
sweeter  than  revenge."  He  looked  at  her  with  a 
little  inquiring  smile. 

Alaine  smiled  in  return.  "  When  I  see  you  again, 
monsieur,  after  this  long  parting,  I  may  be  better 
able  to  extend  my  forgiveness,  at  present " 

"You  withhold  it.  That  is  not  unexpected. 
Ah-h,  France  !  See,  there  flies  her  flag.  Does  it 
not  thrill  your  heart  to  look  upon  it,  Alaine  Her- 
vieu?" 

She  looked  up  and  saw  flying  from  the  fort  the 
flag  of  her  native  country.  For  a  moment  her  heart 
did  indeed  swell  and  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  "  Dear 
France !"  she  sighed. 

"This  will  seem  quite  like  home  to  you,"  said 
Father  Bisset,  diplomatically.  "  We  shall  all  feel  as 
if  we  were  again  under  the  skies  of  France.  I  re 
gret,  M.  Dupont,  that  we  do  not  tarry  longer.  When 
did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  we  set  sail  for  the 
return  trip  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  possible,"  replied  Fran£ois. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  something  of  the  town,  now 
we  are  here,"  the  old  man  remarked,  with  a  pensive 
air. 

"We  can  grant  you  time  enough  for  that,"  re 
turned  Fran£ois. 

Alaine  watched  the  frowning  cliff  grow  nearer 
and  nearer.  The  Chateau  of  St.  Louis  upon  the 
terrace  of  the  Upper  Town  rose  before  her ;  below 
twisted  the  streets  of  the  Lower  Town,  its  gray 


FROM   SHIP   TO   SHORE  189 

wharves  stretching  along  the  river.  She  gazed  at 
the  clusters  of  spires  and  of  buildings.  Under 
which  roof  might  be  those  nuns  of  whom  M.  Du- 
pont  had  spoken?  Darkness  had  settled  down 
when  the  vessel  at  last  dropped  her  anchor,  and 
Alaine  went  to  sleep  with  a  feeling  half  dread,  half 
joy,  for  what  the  morrow  might  bring. 

She  was  out  upon  deck  early  the  next  morning. 
The  town  stretched  out  before  her  in  all  its  outline 
of  spire  and  roof,  of  postern  and  bastion ;  a  French 
city,  and  she,  a  French  girl,  there  a  prisoner  before 
it.  Father  Bisset  noted  her  sigh  before  he  made  his 
presence  known.  "Art  sorrowful  at  leaving  the 
ship  ?"  he  whispered,  smiling. 

"  No,  Father,  but  one  has  many  thoughts.  All 
this,"  she  waved  her  hand,  "  does  it  not  bring  back 
thoughts  of  home  to  you?" 

"  Of  wrong  and  persecution,  of  oppression  and 
death  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  for  us  it  includes  that.  Oh,  Father,  shall 
we  surely  escape  ?" 

He  nodded.  "  I  have  the  clue  I  missed.  If  Marie 
should  follow  us  I  can  manage  her.  As  for  the  other, 
he  will  take  a  nap  this  afternoon,  I  fancy." 

"  Sh  !  here  he  comes." 

Frangois  approached,  debonair  and  confident. 
"  We  will  breakfast  a  little  late.  I  have  sent  ashore 
for  some  provisions,  and  we  wrill  have  such  a  feast 
as  wre  have  not  had  for  many  a  long  day.  Now  that 
our  voyage  is  ended,  I  will  admit  that  it  was  not 


190  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

without  danger.  With  England  at  war  with  us,  and 
her  ships  upon  the  seas,  besides  the  possibility  of 
heavy  storms  at  this  time  of  year,  we  might  have 
fared  hardly ;  yet  all  has  gone  wrell  and  we  will 
celebrate  the  event.  Mademoiselle  will  not  refuse  a 
glass  of  good  old  wine,  and  you,  Father  Bisset,  will 
not  object  to  drinking  her  health.  I  wrould  see  you 
first  in  my  cabin  ;  I  have  a  few  words  for  your  ear." 

Father  Bisset  followed  him,  and  when  they  were 
alone  Franfois  said,  "Mademoiselle  will  need  a 
better  wardrobe  than  she  is  at  present  provided 
with ;"  he  handed  him  a  purse  ;  "  this  for  the  pur 
pose." 

Father  Bisset  recoiled.  "  My  dear  sir,  I  am  not 
versed  in  the  art  of  selecting  toilettes  for  a  lady  ;  I 
pray  you  commission  some  one  else." 

Franfois  tossed  the  purse  from  one  hand  to  the 
other.  "  Then  hand  it  over  to  the  good  sisters  and 
let  them  attend  to  it.  I  may  count  on  your  return, 
Father  Bisset.  You  will  give  me  your  word  that 
when  you  leave  mademoiselle  at  the  convent  you 
will  return  to  the  ship.1' 

"I  do  not  know  why  I  should,"  returned  the  old 
man,  reflectively.  "  I  do  not  know  on  what  grounds 
you  have  a  right  to  exact  it  from  me." 

"  Only  because  of  mademoiselle  ;  if  she  is  assured 
that  you  accompany  me  on  my  search  for  her  father 
she  will  feel  more  content." 

"You  are  suddenly  very  considerate."  Father 
Bisset's  lip  curled  slightly. 


FROM   SHIP   TO    SHORE  191 

"  It  is  circumstance  that  has  made  me  ever  seem 
otherwise,  and  in  this  instance,  if  I  have  not  your 
promise,  I  must  feel  compelled  to  detain  you  and 
send  mademoiselle  under  other  escort.11 

"  I  promise  you  that  when  I  leave  mademoiselle 
it  will  be  to  return  to  you.11 

"  Good  ;  that  is  sufficient.11 

'•  But  I  shall  take  a  little  time  to  examine  the 
city,  and  if  I  am  not  back  at  once " 

"  I  will  wait  for  you  ;  we  understood  that  before." 

It  was,  indeed,  quite  an  elaborate  meal  which 
FranQois  provided  for  his  guests,  and  Father  Bisset 
warmed  to  the  occasion,  so  that  when  Franfois,  with 
a  flourish,  proposed  the  health  of  the  future  Madame 
Dupont,  the  old  man  tossed  off  his  wine  gayly.  "  To 
the  future  Madame  Dupont,11  he  repeated ;  "  a  good 
toast  that.  You  do  not  drink,  Alaine ;"  and  he 
laughed. 

Alaine  looked  coldly  disapproving ;  then  suddenly 
it  dawned  upon  her  that  it  was  not  she  of  whom 
Father  Bisset  thought,  for  she  remembered  that  he 
intended  to  make  it  impossible  that  she  should  ever 
bear  that  name.  She  smiled  faintly.  He  was  so 
sly,  so  like  a  crafty  old  fox,  that  Father  Bisset. 

"  Mademoiselle  is  too  modest  to  drink  her  own 
health,11  cried  Francois.  "  Another  bottle,  Father. 
It  is  good  wine,  is  it  not?  None  too  heady,  and 
smooth  and  soft  as  silk.11 

"Should  you  not  like  to  try  this  other?11  asked 
Father  Bisset,  drawing  a  bottle  from  under  the  table, 


192  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

removing  the  cork,  and  pouring  out  a  glassful,  which 
he  handed  to  Franfois.  "Also  good,  is  it  not?" 

"Also  good ;  if  anything,  better  than  the  other." 

Father  Bisset  laughed.  "  I  bribed  your  man  to 
get  it  for  me  ;  I  fancied  it  was  to  be  had  here  ;  it  is 
an  old  favorite  of  mine."  He  set  the  bottle  by  his 
side,  and  from  time  to  time  refilled  Frangois's  glass. 

"A  bit  heady,"  remarked  Francois,  after  a  time. 
"  I  think  I  have  had  enough."  He  staggered  slightly 
as  he  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  We  would  best  depart,  Alaine  and  I ;  it  is  later 
than  we  realized,"  said  Father  Bisset,  "  and  a  walk 
will  do  us  good  after  this  heavy  meal.  Will  you 
order  that  we  be  set  ashore  ?" 

Francois  looked  at  him  with  dimly  seeing  eyes. 
"  I  will  order,"  he  mumbled. 

Father  Bisset  led  him  by  the  arm  on  deck ;  the 
fresh  air  revived  him  somewhat.  "  What  wTas  it  you 
wanted?"  he  asked. 

"That  you  order  a  boat  to  take  us  ashore." 

"Yes,  yes.  See  to  it,  my  man,"  he  said  to  a 
passing  sailor.  "  Send  the  skipper  to  me." 

But  when  the  skipper  appeared  Francois  was  be 
yond  the  ability  of  giving  orders.  "  A  boat  was  to 
take  mademoiselle  and  myself  ashore,"  explained 
Father  Bisset,  blandly.  "Monsieur  has  been  testing 
too  many  of  the  good  wines ;  I  will  assist  him  to 
his  room."  Still  grasping  Fraiifois's  arm,  he  led  him 
to  his  cabin  and  saw  him  safely  abed.  "It  was  too 
heady,"  murmured  Fra^ois,  drowsily. 


FROM    SHIP   TO    SHORE  193 

Leaving  him  in  a  heavy  slumber,  Father  Bisset 
sought  Alaine.  "  The  moment  has  arrived,'1  he  told 
her  ;  "  the  boat  is  ready  to  go." 

Marie  stood  watching  them. 

•'Adieu,  Marie,"  said  Alaine. 

The  woman  did  not  move,  but  simply  returned, 
"  Adieu,  mademoiselle.1' 

Up  the  narrow,  crooked  streets  of  the  town  the 
fugitives  went,  their  faces  set  in  the  direction  of  the 
convent.  They  walked  rapidly,  and  Alaine  nearly 
lost  breath  as  she  climbed  the  steep  rocky  way,  her 
companion  panting  beside  her.  They  paused  near 
the  market-place.  "  Now  we  are  here,  the  next 
thing  is  to  get  out,"  said  Father  Bisset.  "We  will 
not  linger  long,  my  child,  for  we  are  safe  only  for  so 
many  hours,  and  we  must  make  the  most  of  them." 
And  he  stalked  on  with  increasing  speed,  looking 
anxiously  around  as  he  turned  from  one  crooked 
street  to  another.  From  time  to  time  he  looked  at 
Alaine  thoughtfully,  as  if  puzzling  over  some  ques 
tion.  At  last  he  entered  a  shop,  bidding  the  girl  to 
follow  him,  and  saying,  "  I  would  have  you  remem 
ber,  my  daughter,  that  your  brother,  though  younger, 
is  about  your  height.'1  The  solution  to  these  enig 
matical  words  was  evident  when  he  purchased  a  suit 
of  rough  clothes,  which  he  had  made  up  into  a  bun 
dle  and  took  under  his  arm.  He  paused  at  the  door 
of  the  shop  as  he  was  going  out,  and  addressed  the 
shopkeeper.  "  Could  monsieur  recommend  a  cheap 
and  comfortable  lodging  where  two  could  rest  and 

13 


194  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

await  the  arrival  of  the  lad  just  mentioned?1'  Mon 
sieur  could  and  did,  with  voluble  directions  pointing 
the  way. 

A  few  minutes  of  chaffering  and  the  bargain  with 
a  sturdy  Frenchwoman  was  made ;  but  this  done, 
they  were  established  for  the  nonce  in  a  by-street 
out  of  the  way  of  general  traffic. 

About  dawn  there  issued  from  the  house  two 
figures  ;  one  of  a  lad  in  coarse  clothing  and  the  other 
of  the  priest  who  had  long  ago  exchanged  his  soutane 
for  a  peasant's  dress.  Down  toward  the  water 
front  they  took  their  way  among  the  groups  of  sing 
ing  boatmen  and  coureurs  de  bois ;  farther  and  far 
ther  along  till  the  spars  of  the  vessel  in  which  Fran- 
gois  Dupont  still  lay  asleep  were  lost  to  sight,  and 
the  waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence  before  them  were 
free  of  any  craft  save  some  light  canoes.  Yet  far 
ther  out,  nearer  the  sea,  the  ships  of  a  fleet  were 
sailing  toward  Quebec,  the  commander  unconscious 
that  one  victory  to  result  from  his  attack  would  be 
that  affecting  a  girl  fleeing  from  a  persistent  suitor. 


CHAPTER   XII 

GENERAL    JACQUES 

FATHER  BISSET  stood  by  the  brink  of  the  rushing 
stream  and  looked  up  and  down  its  banks.  "  Let 
us  reflect,"  he  said.  "  He  will  sleep  late,  till  daylight, 
perhaps,  and  he  will  not  at  once  realize  that  I  do 
not  intend  to  return.  As  for  Marie,  I  think  she  will 
say  nothing,  for  it  would  do  no  good,  and  but  bring 
blame  upon  her.  I  think  he  will  begin  to  suspect 
when  he  receives  the  packet  I  left  for  him,  a  purse 
which  he  handed  to  me  for  your  use." 

"He  dared  to  do  that!'1 

"  Yes ;  but  it  was  kindly  meant,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  receive  it,  but  not  to  retain  it.  Very  well,  then, 
he  discovers  the  purse,  and  after  a  time  he  comes  to 
himself,  and  will  immediately  set  out  to  make  in 
quiry  at  the  convent.  We  have  not  been  there, 
then  we  have  outwitted  him  and  have  escaped, 
though  perhaps  he  will  not  think  I  have  taken  you 
out  of  the  town,  and  he  will  search  there  first.  All 
this  will  take  time,  and  we  have  a  good  start.  I 
think  we  are  safe.1' 

Alaine^  hand  on  his  arm  tightened.  "And  you 
think  there  is  no  danger  from  him?  He  will  not 
follow?" 

"  He  may  eventually,  but  we  have  some  hours1 

195 


196  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

start.  He  must  first  satisfy  himself  that  I  do  not 
intend  to  return,  and  that  you  are  at  none  of  the 
convents  or  anywhere  in  Quebec.  The  sleeping 
potion  which  I  put  in  the  wine  will  not  lose  its  effect 
at  once,  and  he  will  be  stupid  all  day.11 

"  I  cannot  imagine  how  you  were  able  to  do  this,11 
Alaine  said,  thoughtfully.  "  Where  did  you  get  the 
potion?11 

"I  took  care  to  provide  myself  with  several  ne 
cessities  when  I  left  France,  and  in  case  of  emer 
gency  I  brought  with  me  one  or  two  weapons  quite 
as  useful  as  a  sword  or  a  pistol.  I  know  how  to 
use  certain  drugs,  but  I  know  little  about  wielding 
implements  of  war.  My  little  possessions,  you  may 
remember,  were  brought  aboard  the  vessel  with  me  ; 
some  of  them  remain  there,  the  rest  I  have  here.11 

The  soft  purple  light  of  an  early  October  morning 
hovered  over  the  lofty  bluffs  of  Point  Levi,  and  a 
delicate  mist  floated  above  plain  and  river.  The 
boatmen  were  beginning  to  gather,  and  their  songs 
were  wafted  upon  the  morning  air.  Silent  and  sleep 
ing  the  town  still  lay,  its  people  unaware  of  the  ap 
proach  of  a  little  fleet,  and  not  dreaming  that  the 
guns  of  the  fort  would  soon  bellow  forth  a  savage 
greeting  to  Sir  William  Phipps. 

To  the  fact  of  their  being  neither  Dutch  nor  Eng 
lish  was  now  due  the  safety  of  Alaine  and  her  com 
panion.  A  renegade  priest  might  receive  some  suffer 
ance  from  the  friends  of  Frontenac,  himself  none 
too  fond  of  the  Jesuits,  but  with  war  upon  them, 


GENERAL  JACQUES  197 

the  French  would  have  shown  small  mercy  to  one 
from  the  British  colony  of  New  York.  Therefore 
Father  Bisset  impressed  it  upon  Alaine,  "We  are 
French ;  we  are  from  Rouen ;  we  have  come  to 
make  our  fortunes.  Henceforth  I  am  your  uncle 
Jacques,  and  thus  you  must  address  me.  A  boy 
and  his  uncle  will  not  be  so  easily  traced  as  a  girl 
and  the  man  she  calls  father.  We  will  trudge  along, 
my  nephew,  and  get  a  little  beyond  the  town ;  we 
shall  not  be  very  long  in  meeting  some  of  those  wild 
woodmen  of  whom  we  both  have  heard  much ;  we 
shall  in  all  probability  have  to  spend  some  time 
with  them,  therefore  prepare  yourself  for  a  rough 
life.  For  you,  my  child,  it  will  be  a  hard  experience ; 
for  me,  well,  he  must  expect  it  who  flees  his  country. 
Fugitives  from  justice  are  many  of  these  coureurs 
de  bois,  and  a  fellow  feeling  will  do  much  toward 
establishing  a  good  understanding." 

Through  the  woods,  brilliant  with  the  autumn 
coloring  in  the  keen  Canadian  air,  they  wandered, 
pursuing  the  track  of  the  river,  and  at  last  they 
came  upon  a  group  of  rough  voyageurs  intent  upon 
their  noonday  meal.  "  Does  there  happen  to  be  one 
Antoine  Crepin  among  you  ?"  asked  Jacques  Bisset 
as  he  approached.  "  I  am  in  search  of  him  ;  a  fugi 
tive  from  France  am  I,  and  I  seek  this  Antoine,  whom 
I  well  knew  in  my  youth." 

The  men  eyed  him  and  looked  askance  at  the  deli 
cate  features  of  this  questioner's  companion.  "An 
toine  Crepin  ?"  at  last  one  spoke  up.  "  I  know  him  ; 


198 

he  has  gone  farther  along ;  he  winters  near  Trois 
Rivieres  always." 

"And  do  you  go  that  way?" 

"  We  go,  yes,  there  or  somewhere." 

"  Have  you  room  for  two  more  in  your  party  ?  I 
have — what  have  I  ?  Not  much  ;  a  little  of  the  silver 
of  France  for  our  passage."  He  carefully  drew 
some  coins  from  his  pouch. 

The  men  conferred  together.  "  We  will  take  you. 
Keep  your  money.  It  is  share  and  share  alike. 
You  and  the  boy  there  will  need  something  to  begin 
life  with,  my  friend.  You  have  chosen  a  bad  time 
for  your  travels,  with  the  country  alive  with  disputes. 
Up  and  down  the  river  it  is  the  same  ;  they  say  the 
English  may  approach.  For  ourselves  we  get  out, 
but  we  may  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  Iroquois  be 
fore  night.  However,  that  is  the  life ;  one  cannot 
tell  when  one  is  in  danger ;  one  may  be  drowned  or 
be  torn  by  a  wild  beast,  or  be  scalped  by  an  Indian  ; 
one  thing  is  as  likely  as  another ;  it  is  all  chance  ;  if 
you  wish  to  take  yours  with  us,  very  well.1' 

That  wild  journey,  would  Alaine  ever  forget  it? 
the  frail  canoes  shooting  through  the  whirling  rapids 
and  borne  on  and  on  ;  the  night  beneath  the  bright 
stars,  with  the  cries  of  prowling  beasts  in  her  ears, 
and  the  haunting  dread  of  an  Indian  war-whoop 
disturbing  her  dreams ;  those  days  when  weird 
songs  and  rude  jests  awoke  the  echoes  in  silent 
places.  She  had  not  labored  in  field  and  garden 
to  be  other  than  free  of  movement,  and  her  skill 


GENERAL   JACQUES  199 

in  cooking  won  her  the  approval  of  her  rough  com 
panions.  It  was  even  harder  for  Jacques  Bisset  to 
hide  the  fact  of  his  former  calling  than  it  was  for 
Alaine  to  disguise  her  sex,  and  many  a  laugh  arose  at 
the  old  man's  expense.  "  He  is  schoolmaster ;  he  is 
scrivener ;  he  is — what  is  he  ?"  they  cried.  "  And 
he  guards  the  lad  as  if  he  \vere  taking  him  to  a 
monastery.  Here,  Alain,  boy,  leave  that  mother- 
man  of  yours  and  we'll  give  you  a  chance  to  kill  a 
deer,  a  chance  you'll  not  have  had  back  there  in 
France." 

And  Alaine  would  laugh  and  say,  "  I'd  rather 
cook  your  deer  than  kill  him,  and  this  uncle,  he  will 
learn  one  day,  though  he  is  not  young.  Leave  us 
here  to  keep  up  the  fire  and  cook  your  food ;  we 
will  sit  and  fish,  and  if  you  come  home  empty- 
handed  we  maybe  will  have  something  for  you." 
So  they  would  troop  off  and  leave  them  to  watch 
the  camp  till  they  returned  with  their  game  and 
were  ready  to  launch  again  upon  the  river,  each  day 
bearing  them  farther  from  Quebec,  where  the  guns 
of  the  fort  were  growling  out  their  defiance  of  the 
doughty  Phipps  and  where  Francois  Dupont  had 
awakened  from  his  long  sleep  to  one  predominant 
fact :  the  city  was  threatened ;  it  was  French,  above 
all  it  was  French,  and  to  arms  he  flew,  remembering 
for  a  time  only  dimly  that  there  were  such  persons  as 
Father  Bisset  or  Alaine  Hervieu,  or,  if  he  remembered, 
it  was  to  feel  a  grim  satisfaction  that  they  were  there 
on  his  side.  It  was  only  after  Frontenac's  valiant 


200  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

defence,  and  when  the  bumptious  Phipps  sailed  away 
the  worse  off  by  eight  vessels  and  many  men,  that 
Fran£ois  began  to  think  of  his  own  affairs.  "  I 
promised  the  old  priest  that  I  would  wait  for  him. 
Very  well,  I  have  waited.  I  shall  find  him,  no  doubt, 
somewhere  with  the  monks  at  the  college  or  the 
seminary.  He  may  be  assisting  them  at  Notre  Dame 
des  Victoires  to  decorate  with  trophies  after  this  our 
victory.  Vive  La  France  !"  he  shouted  aloud  at  the 
remembrance.  "I,  too,  share  in  that  victory. 
Good  !  I  first  find  Father  Bisset,  and  then  my  vessel, 
if  she  is  not  blown  up.  We  shall  set  sail  rather 
later  than  we  intended,  but  it  is  better  than  a  few 
days  too  soon,  for  we  might  by  this  time  be  prisoners 
of  that  Phipps." 

To  the  convent  he  went.  No  priest  and  no 
Mademoiselle  Hervieu  had  ever  been  there.  Fran- 
gois  looked  mystified.  "  It  was  uncommonly  heady, 
that  wine,"  he  remarked  to  himself.  "I  scarcely 
remember  ever  to  have  been  so  muddled  by  a  little 
bout ;  yet — ah,  yes,  he  has  taken  alarm.  He  learned 
that  the  English  were  coming  and  he  removed  him 
self  and  mademoiselle  to  a  safer  place.  He  will 
return.  I  sit  here  and  wait ;  it  is  all  that  I  can  do. 
He  learns  of  victory  and  he  returns.  I  said  I  would 
wait,  and  I  wait." 

More  than  once  Alaine  had  seen  Father  Bisset  take 
from  his  pocket  a  paper  which  he  studied  carefully 
and  then  seemed  lost  in  thought,  a  proceeding  which 
brought  forth  jests  from  the  rollicking  voyageurs. 


GENERAL   JACQUES  201 

"An  order  for  good  living,  is  it,  Jacques  Bisset?" 
one  would  cry.  "A  letter  from  the  king  himself, 
very  likely,"  put  in  a  big  fellow  with  an  immense 
voice  to  match  his  proportions.  "We  have  here, 
my  friends,  one  carrying  orders  for  Louis  XIV. ;  he 
\vill  lead  us  against  the  English."  He  bowed  low, 
sweeping  the  ground  with  his  fur  cap.  "  I  have 
discovered  you,  Monsieur  le  General  Jacques  Bisset." 
Every  one  joined  in  the  laugh  that  followed,  and 
from  that  time  he  was  dubbed  General  Jacques. 

They  had  halted  for  their  evening  meal.  Trois 
Rivieres  was  not  a  day's  journey  from  them.  Squat 
ting  around  their  fire  they  were  preparing  their  meat 
for  spitting  before  the  cheerful  blaze ;  the  nights 
were  waxing  cold,  and  they  huddled  blinking  in 
close  range  of  the  acceptable  heat.  Suddenly  Petit 
Marc — so-called  in  sheer  contrariness — slapped  his 
knee.  "  Son  of  a  donkey !  Senseless  hooting  owl !" 
he  cried.  "  I  forget  that  it  is  near  here  that  Antoine 
Crepin  has  his  lodge.  It  is  near  an  Indian  village 
beyond  the  woods  there.  Come,  General  Jacques, 
we  can  make  it  before  it  grows  too  late.  If  it  is 
Antoine  you  want,  Antoine  you  shall  have,  though 
how  one  can  prefer  the  surly  fellow  to  any  of  us 
passes  my  comprehension.  Here,  boy,  up  with  you, 
for  from  the  alacrity  with  which  the  general  stirs  his 
bones  it  is  good-by  to  us  and  how  are  you,  An 
toine  ?  We  shall  find  him,  I  think  ;  these  last  nights 
have  been  cold  enough  to  drive  him  in.  Who1!!  go 
with  us  ?  You,  Gros  Edouard  ?  You,  Richard  ?" 


202  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Two  or  three  scrambled  to  their  feet,  and  they  set 
out  without  further  ado  through  the  dim  forest,  their 
torches  aflare  and  their  guns  ready.  "  It  is  a  little 
more  than  a  mile  westward,"  Petit  Marc  told  them. 
"  We  can  trot  it  in  no  time  and  back  again.  An- 
toine  would  rather  have  Indians  for  neighbors  than 
whites,  and  he  is  half  right,"  he  added,  in  an  aside. 
"We'll  jog  right  on."  They  proceeded  Indian-file 
through  the  leaf-carpeted  wood,  Petit  Marc  marching 
ahead,  and  Richard  with  Gros  Edouard  bringing  up 
the  rear.  At  last  they  came  to  a  creek  swollen  with 
the  autumn  rains ;  it  was  a  turbulent  little  stream, 
but  it  did  not  daunt  the  voyageurs.  "  We  shall  have 
to  swim  it,"  said  Petit  Marc,  calmly  looking  tip  and 
down  the  rising  stream.  "  You,  General  Jacques,  can 
you  use  your  fins  ?  I'll  take  the  boy  on  my  back, 
for  I'll  swear  he  can't  swim.1'  He  looked  Alaine  up 
and  down.  "  How  is  it,  son  ?" 

Alaine  shook  her  head. 

"  I  thought  so.  Here,  then,  take  me  around  the 
neck,  so,  first,  then  slip  your  hands  to  my  shoulders, 
and  hold  hard.  You  needn't  be  scared  ;  I  have  car 
ried  heavier  bodies  than  yours  across  worse  floods. 
Here  we  go."  And  he  landed  Alaine  on  the  muddy 
bank  at  the  other  side.  Shaking  himself  like  a  huge 
dog,  he  stood  up  to  watch  the  progress  of  the  re 
maining  members  of  the  party.  "  Keep  it  up,  gen 
eral,"  he  shouted,  "you'll  soon  make  it.  Help  him, 
boys  ;  he  hasn't  the  muscle  of  the  rest  of  us."  And, 
indeed,  the  old  man's  strength  was  nearly  spent,  and 


GENERAL   JACQUES  203 

after  being  dragged  up  the  bank  he  dropped  trem 
bling  to  the  ground.  Petit  Marc  pulled  out  a  flask. 
"  Tickle  your  throat  with  that  and  you'll  be  able  to 
come  on,  general,"  he  said. 

A  few  minutes  of  rest  sufficed  to  give  breath  to 
the  old  man,  and  they  continued  their  way  to  the 
cabin,  which  stood  but  a  short  distance  farther  on. 
With  a  ponderous  rap  Petit  Marc  beat  on  the  door. 
"  Awake,  there,  Antoine,"  he  called.  "  Here  is  Gen 
eral  Jacques  and  a  section  of  his  army.  Awake  and 
open  in  the  name  of  the  king.1' 

In  an  instant  the  door  was  opened  and  a  face 
peered  out,  showing  in  the  flame  of  the  torches  sus 
picious  eyes  and  a  grim,  unsmiling  mouth.  "The 
general  here  insisted  upon  making  your  house  his 
head-quarters,"  said  Petit  Marc,  grinning;  "he  has 
written  orders  from  the  king  to  press  us  all  into 
service,  and  you  are  to  provision  the  whole  army. 
We  will  have  pity  on  you  to-night,  having  supped 
fairly  well,  and  we'll  go  back,  but  you'll  have  to  keep 
him  and  the  boy."  He  gave  the  dripping  figure  of 
Father  Bisset  none  too  gentle  a  push  toward  the 
door. 

"  Antoine  Crepin  ?"  said  the  shivering  old  man. 

"  That  is  my  name." 

"  And  Jeanne  ?" 

Antoine  looked  closer,  gave  an  exclamation  of  sur 
prise,  and  opened  wide  the  door.  Father  Bisset  en 
tered  followed  by  Alaine.  "  It's  all  right,  boys,"  said 
Petit  Marc ;  "  the  general  is  safe,  and  we  return. 


204  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Good-night,  general ;  we  shall  expect  to  receive  our 
promotions  in  short  order."  And  with  a  loud  laugh 
Petit  Marc  and  his  companions  turned  back. 

"He  is  very  wet;  he  will  take  cold,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Alaine  to  the  man,  who  was  looking  at  her 
curiously.  "As  for  me,"  she  continued,  "on  that 
broad  back  I  scarcely  touched  the  water  enough  to 
hurt  me.1' 

"  But  Jeanne  ?"  Father  Bisset  interrupted. 

Antoine  placed  his  hand  on  the  questioner's 
shoulder  and  conducted  him  across  the  floor  to 
where  an  inner  room  was  roughly  separated  from 
the  larger  apartment.  Alaine  did  not  follow,  but 
drew  nearer  the  fire  and  crouched  on  the  hearth  to 
wring  the  water  from  her  damp  moccasins  and  to 
dry  her  sleeves.  By  the  dim,  flickering  light  she 
saw  that  here  was  a  dwelling  of  the  rudest  kind ;  a 
roughly  fashioned  bench,  a  table,  a  pile  of  skins  in 
one  corner,  a  few  cooking-utensils,  were  all  that  she 
could  discern.  From  the  inner  room  had  come  a 
quick  exclamation,  a  surprised  scream  of  delight, 
laughter  and  sobs  mingled,  and  then  voluble  words 
expressive  of  astonishment,  commiseration,  and  in 
quiry.  Presently  reappeared  Antoine  bearing  a 
light,  and  behind  him  came  two  figures.  At  first 
sight  these  were  so  exactly  alike  that  Alaine  stared. 
Were  there  two  Father  Bissets,  one  many  years 
younger  than  the  other  ?  She  rubbed  her  eyes  and 
looked  again.  A  red  kerchief  was  tied  around  each 
of  these  two  heads ;  each  wore  a  fringed  deer-skin 


GENERAL   JACQUES  205 

jacket,  below  which  was  wrapped  an  Indian  blanket. 
The  two  faces  showed  alike  kindly  eyes,  expansive 
lips,  and  the  same  genial  smile.  Then  the  older 
spoke.  "  This  is  Jeanne  Crepin,  my  sister  Jeanne, 
who  remembers  well  little  Alaine  Hervieu  in  her 
babyhood.1" 

Alaine  at  once  comprehended  ;  this  was  the  sister 
of  her  old  friend,  the  young  sister  of  whom  Michelle 
had  often  told  her,  who  had  married  a  gay  young 
Parisian  and  had  followed  him  overseas.  There 
was  some  difficulty,  some  crime  which  affected  these 
two,  Alaine  remembered,  and  they  had  not  remained 
to  take  any  risks.  It  was  said  that  Father  Bisset 
had  covered  the  retreat,  but  of  this  no  one  could  be 
positive,  but  it  seemed  that  all  these  years  he  had 
kept  track  of  the  fugitives.  It  was  all  true,  then, 
and  here  they  were. 

"Alaine  Hervieu  resembles  her  mother/'  came 
Jeanne  Crepin's  deep  voice.  "  She  is  very  wel 
come." 

"And  now  you  know,"  said  Father  Bisset,  "why 
I  was  not  so  concerned  when  I  learned  that  our 
destination  would  be  Canada,  for  Canada  I  intended 
to  reach,  whether  by  Hudson,  by  sea,  or  by  land,  it 
mattered  not,  and  I  laughed  in  my  sleeve  that  Fran- 
£ois  Dupont  should  be  helping  me  on  my  way." 

Alaine  smiled.  She  feared  Franyois  no  longer. 
"  And  all  these  years  you  have  been  living  in  these 
woods?"  she  asked  of  Jeanne. 

"  In  these  woods ;    they  are   kinder  than    cities. 


206  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

One  can  learn  how  to  face  open  foes  ;  it  is  those  who 
approach  us  as  friends  that  are  most  to  be  feared." 

Antoine  nodded  gravely.  Alaine  looked  at  him 
with  some  curiosity.  Michelle  had  described  him  as 
a  handsome  young  cavalier,  gay  and  full  of  life  ;  this 
serious,  reticent  old  man  did  not  answer  to  her 
description.  Was  he  really  guilty  of  that  mysterious 
crime,  and  so  bowed  under  the  weight  of  it,  or  was 
it  the  injustice  of  being  considered  guilty  while  he 
was  innocent  that  had  embittered  him  ?  Alaine 
wondered  over  it.  But  she  was  tired,  and  the 
warmth  of  the  room  and  the  effect  of  a  warm  herby 
drink  given  her  soon  made  her  drowsy,  so  that  her 
head  began  to  droop,  and  she  threw  herself  down 
on  the  pile  of  skins  in  the  corner,  dimly  conscious 
that  a  low-voiced  conversation  went  on  for  hours. 
Although  she  felt  more  secure  than  she  had  for 
weeks,  she  felt  singularly  lonely,  and  she  slipped 
into  a  sleep  to  dream  that  she  struggled  alone  through 
a  sea  whose  waves  ever  beat  her  from  the  shore. 

Having  cast  in  his  lot  with  these  children  of  the 
wood,  Jacques  Bisset  followed  as  closely  as  possible 
their  manner  of  living,  sallying  forth  into  the  crisp 
cold  air  with  gun  on  shoulder,  joining  in  with  the 
mirth  of  Jeanne,  holding  friendly  one-sided  con 
versations  with  such  Indians  as  they  met,  and  teach 
ing  Alaine  such  woodcraft  as  he  thought  might  be 
useful  to  her.  Antoine,  himself  grave  and  silent, 
had  a  smile  for  no  one  but  the  cheerful  Jeanne,  yet 
he  showed  his  brother-in-law  more  graciousness  of 


GENERAL  JACQUES  207 

manner  than  he  did  any  other.  During  the  long 
evenings  there  was  time  enough  for  talk,  at  least  it 
was  Father  Bisset  who  chiefly  did  the  talking ;  Jeanne 
would  put  in  her  eager,  saucy  questions,  and  Alaine 
well  wrapped  in  furs,  would  crouch  in  a  warm  corner 
and  listen,  yet  often  letting  her  thoughts  wander. 
Where  were  they,  her  father  and  Pierre,  and — Len- 
dert?  Yes,  Lendert.  Even  here,  and  in  spite  of 
all  these  changing  scenes,  she  could  not  forget  him. 
The  devotion  of  Jeanne  and  her  husband  touched 
her  deeply,  and  Antoine  reminded  her  of  Pierre. 
Poor  Pierre,  if  he  had  returned  he  would  wait  and 
watch  for  her  the  rest  of  his  days.  But  Lendert, 
had  he  forgotten  ?  Yet  it  was  of  Lendert  she  thought 
the  most  frequently  ;  it  was  Lendert  she  loved.  There 
had  been  moments  of  peril,  moments  of  solemn 
night  when  truth  must  be  answered  by  truth ;  she 
had  tried  to  retreat,  but  truth  had  held  her  and 
would  be  answered,  and  she,  trembling,  had  con 
fessed  to  Danger  and  to  Night,  "  There  is  one  I  love. 
I  cannot  help  it ;  I  have  tried  with  all  my  strength, 
but  Love  is  mightier  than  I,  and  I  am  slave  to  love.1' 
Then,  as  some  red  embers  dropped  with  a  soil  brustle 
from  the  burning  logs,  she  would  start  from  her 
revery  and  come  back  to  hear  what  Father  Bisset 
was  saying.  Now  he  spoke  of  Holland,  then  of 
England.  He  had  been  in  both  places.  Were  they 
surprised,  Jeanne  and  Antoine,  that  he  was  Hugue 
not  ?  They  had  suffered ;  they  would  understand 
that  a  matter  of  conscience, — well,  that  was  it. 


208  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  A  matter  of  conscience,  yes,  when  one  has  fled 
because  of  that  there  is  nothing  to  say,"  Jeanne 
would  say.  "  We  owe  it  to  you,  Jacques,  my  brother, 
that  we  have  escaped  to  a  place  where  the  arm  of  law 
does  not  touch  us.  We  do  not  criticise  you,  he  and 
I ;  we  have  suffered  too  much  from  France  ever  to 
wish  to  see  that  country  again.  We  live  a  wild  life  ; 
there  is  not  much  religion  in  it,  yet  if  one  can  be 
lieve  in  God  and  in  his  justice,  not  man's,  he  is  not 
altogether  bad.  I  tell  my  beads  ;  I  say  my  prayers  ; 
I  have  respected  the  priests  because  you  were  one. 
Now,  I  hate  the  France  that  has  persecuted  you  and 
the  Jesuits  who  would  curse  you.1' 

Alaine  heard  this,  then  slept,  awaking  to-  hear, 
"  The  child  Alaine  must  be  returned  to  her  friends. 
I  ask  that  of  you,  Antoine  and  Jeanne.  I  am  an  old 
man,  and  of  late  I  realize  that  I  am  not  as  strong  as 
I  used  to  be.  If  I  am  removed  I  leave  her  to  your 
sacred  charge.  She  must  be  taken  to  one  of  the 
English  or  Dutch  settlements  in  New  York.  I  was 
God's  instrument  to  save  her  from  the  pit  digged 
for  her,  and  I  have  guarded  her  from  all  the  evil  that 
I  could.  I  may  have  been  mistaken  to  bring  her  in 
this  disguise,  but  it  seemed  better  so,  and  it  was  not 
for  long." 

"She  is  not  much  hurt,"  laughed  Jeanne.  "Ma 
foi !  if  I  could  stand  it  for  all  these  years  she  could 
stand  it  for  two  or  three  days.  They  are  not  so 
desperately  wicked,  those  that  brought  you  here. 
One  may  have  been  something  worse  than  any 


GENERAL   JACQUES  209 

of  them  and  still  have  remained  respected  in 
France.11 

"True,  Jeanne,  true,'1  growled  Antoine. 

"  At  all  events,11  continued  Jeanne,  "  you  need  give 
yourself  no  uneasiness ;  we  will  start  forth  as  soon 
as  the  weather  permits  and  see  her  safe  in  one  of 
the  settlements,  and  then  we  return  here  to  live  and 
die  together.  As  for  the  girFs  dress,  it  is  a  good  one, 
and  warm  at  that.  I  wear  much  the  same,  and  if  I 
had  to  travel  about  more  than  I  do,  I  should  not 
cumber  myself  with  anything  more.  It  is  quiet 
enough  and  cold  enough  here  to  wear  anything  one 
chooses.11 

Alaine  lifted  her  head  and  stretched  out  her  feet 
towards  the  blaze.  "  I  am  very  comfortable,11  she 
said,  "  and  I  do  not  think  I  am  likely  to  remember 
or  repeat  all  that  patois  of  the  crew  which  brought 
us  here,  so  give  yourself  no  uneasiness,  Uncle  Jacques; 
I  am  grateful  to  the  very  tip  of  my  moccasins  for 
all  that  you  have  done  for  me.  I  want  to  go  home, 
yes,  but  I  want  to  take  you  all  with  me."  The  wave 
of  her  hand  included  even  the  gloomy  Antoine. 

Jeanne  laughed.  "  She  would  take  us  all,  you 
hear.  Very  well,  let  us  go  and  see  what  Michelle 
will  do.11 

"  She  will  be  very  glad,  I  can  assure  you,11  Alaine 
returned,  gravely. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,11  Jeanne  responded. 
"  However,  there  is  bitter  weather  before  us,  and 
who  shall  say  what  may  happen  before  spring?1' 

14 


210  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Who,  indeed,  can  say  what  may  happen  anywhere 
while  human  passions  are  allowed  to  slip  from  their 
leash?  The  wildest  of  solitary  places  is  yet  too 
narrow  to  prevent  the  lifting  of  Cain's  hand  against 
his  brother.  And  because  of  this,  one  day  along 
the  snow-covered  ground  toward  the  lodge  there 
came  a  file  of  men  led  by  Petit  Marc,  who  carried 
in  his  arms  a  burden.  At  every  step  there  were  red 
stains  to  be  seen  marking  the  snowy  path.  Behind 
Marc  came  Antoine,  his  arms  held  about  the  necks 
of  two  others ;  he  stepped  feebly,  as  one  not  sure  of 
his  way.  At  the  door  of  the  lodge  the  little  com 
pany  paused,  and  Jeanne,  hearing  the  shuffling  feet, 
opened  to  them. 

"  Mother  of  God  !"  she  cried,  "  what  is  this  ?" 

Petit  Marc,  without  a  word,  entered  and  deposited 
his  burden  in  the  clumsy  chair  which,  covered  with 
furs,  stood  before  the  fire. 

"Jacques!"  cried  Jeanne.  "Antoine!"  For  a 
moment  she  was  helpless,  looking  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"  I  am  beyond  remedy,"  whispered  her  brother ; 
"go  to  Antoine." 

His  friends  had  placed  Antoine  on  the  pile  of 
skins  in  the  corner ;  and  he  lay  there  pressing  his 
hand  to  his  side. 

"You  are  hurt,  my  Antoine,"  said  Jeanne,  the 
moan  of  a  woman  entering  into  the  deep  tones  of 
her  voice.  She  knelt  beside  him,  touching  him  with 
tender  fingers. 


GENERAL   JACQUES  211 

Alaine,  like  one  dazed,  looked  on.  "  How  did  it 
happen  ?  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked,  turning  to  Petit 
Marc. 

Antoine  half  raised  himself.  "  I  will  tell.  He 
called  me  a  murderer,  he,  that  wretched  outlaw. 
He  recognized  me,  called  me  by  name,  taunted  me. 
I  drew  my  pistol,  but  it  was  he  who  fired.  Jacques 
rushed  between.  'Jeanne  cannot  spare  you,'  he 
cried.  He  fell,  and  could  I  endure  it?  I  rushed 
upon  him  with  my  knife,  but  he  was  ready,  I  was 
wounded  and  he  has  escaped." 

"  Now  God's  vengeance  follow  him  !"  Jeanne  ex 
claimed.  u  Who  was  it?  Who,  who,  Antoine?" 

"  Victor  Le  Roux,"  he  whispered  ;  "it  was  he.  I 
recognized  him,  as  he  did  me,  after  all  these  years. 
'  Hold  there,  Olivier  Herault,'  he  said  ;  '  murderer  art 
thou,  and  liar  as  well,  if  thou  sayest  I  cheat.' ' 

Petit  Marc  lifted  his  head.  He  was  chafing  the 
hands  of  the  old  man  over  whom  he  was  bending. 
"Olivier  Herault!"  he  exclaimed.  "And  what  of 
him?" 

"I  am  he,"  said  Antoine,  faintly.  He  gently 
pushed  away  the  hand  with  which  Jeanne  would 
have  arrested  the  words. 

Father  Risset  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled.  "  Oli 
vier  Antoine  Crepin  Herault,  Jeanne's  husband,"  he 
said. 

Petit  Marc  stood  up,  his  giant  form  towering  above 
them  all.  "  Olivier  Herault?  then  an  innocent  man," 
he  said,  slowly. 


212  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

"And  why?  Why?"  Jeanne  turned  her  rugged 
face  toward  him,  and  Antoine  essayed  to  stagger  to 
his  feet. 

Petit  Marc  looked  toward  the  other  men  grouped 
together  by  the  door.  "  Here,  my  friends,  this  one, 
Antoine  here,  I  know  him  to  be  innocent  of  any 
crime.  Among  us  here  in  the  woods  it  matters  little 
what  a  man  has  been,  but  there  are  some  of  us  who 
carry  about  with  us  the  poison  of  an  unjust  charge. 
Most  of  us  make  the  best  of  it ;  we  care  but  little ; 
we  would  rather  be  more  free  here  than  less  free 
there,  and  we  would  not  go  back  to  the  old  life,  but 
we  do  not  tell  of  what  is  behind  us ;  the  present  is 
enough  for  us  to  live  for.  Yet  when  one  may  clear 
a  man,  one  may  as  well  do  it.  More  than  ten  years 
ago  one  of  my  comrades,  hurt  by  a  falling  tree,  died 
in  my  arms.  He  wished  to  confess  his  sins  before 
he  departed,  and  he  told  me  that  he  had  fled  from 
France  because  of  having  murdered  a  man  in  a 
quarrel.  '  For  this  crime,'  he  said,  '  one  Olivier 
Herault  is  accused.  I  have  heard  that  he  escaped 
on  the  eve  of  his  arrest,  and  that  there  was  a  hue- 
and-cry  raised  because  of  it.  If  you  ever  find  him 
give  him  my  confession ;  write  it  out  as  I  tell  you.1 
And  I  did;  here  it  is."  He  drew  forth  a  torn, 
stained  bit  of  paper.  "  I  sent  word  to  France,  but  I 
have  never  heard  whether  the  message  reached  there. 
I  thought  some  day  to  find  out,  for  I,  too,  Marc 
Lenoir,  know  what  it  is  to  be  falsely  accused.  The 
law  is  not  always  so  sure  nor  so  just.  Your  inno- 


GENERAL   JACQUES  213 

cence  is  proved,  Olivier  Herault ;  no  one  believes  in 
mine."  He  spoke  simply,  as  one  who  long  ago  had 
accepted  a  fact  and  made  the  best  of  it. 

"  Antoine  !  Antoine!  do  your  hear?"  cried  Jeanne. 
"Jacques,  my  brother  Jacques,  you,  who  believed  in 
him,  who  let  him  escape  and  said  nothing,  do  you 
not  hear?  You  have  saved  him  for  this  great 
moment,  my  Jacques." 

There  was  a  far-away  look  in  the  old  man's  eyes ; 
he  seemed  not  to  know  what  was  going  on ;  he 
gasped  painfully.  "Little  Alaine,"  he  murmured, 
"  come  here,  little  Alaine,  and  say  your  prayers  be 
fore  I  go.  The  angelus  is  ringing  and  it  will  soon  be 
your  bedtime." 

Alaine  with  clasped  hands  and  streaming  eyes 
crept  to  his  knees  and  bowed  there  as  a  child  before 
its  mother.  He  held  her  warm  hands  in  his  nerve 
less  ones,  now  growing  so  sadly  cold.  "  Pater 
Noster,"  he  began  faintly,  and  Alaine  sobbingly  re 
peated,  "  Pater  Noster." 

"  Qui  es  in  ccelis." 

"  Qui  es  in  ccelis/' 

"  Sanctificetur  nomen  tuum  ;"  the  voice  was  grow 
ing  very  faint. 

"  Sanctificetur  nomen  tuum ;"  the  girl  gathered 
strength  and  repeated  the  words  distinctly,  following 
the  whispered  sentences  till  one  could  no  longer 
hear  them,  and  she  finished  the  prayer  alone. 

Every  one  was  kneeling.  The  cold  light  of  a  win 
ter's  sun  touched  the  white  hair  of  the  old  man  with 


214  BECAUSE   OF    CONSCIENCE 

faint  gold  like  a  halo  of  glory.  Alaine  with  bowed 
head  now  sobbed  unrestrainedly,  not  yet  aware  that 
upon  the  lips  of  Father  Bisset  the  Angel  of  Death 
had  set  his  seal. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

A    DAUGHTER    OF    THE    WOODS 

FOR  some  moments  no  one  spoke,  then  there  was 
a  stir  among  the  men,  who,  one  by  one,  filed  out, 
until  of  them  only  Petit  Marc  was  left.  He,  with 
the  half-dozen  others,  had  made  their  winter  quar 
ters  near  by,  too  indifferent  to  the  affairs  of  war  to 
care  to  mix  with  the  more  zealous  community,  yet 
ready  to  take  up  a  cause  at  any  time  when  there 
seemed  sufficient  promise  for  adventure.  A  short 
time  before  they  had  been  joined  by  the  man  Victor 
Le  Roux,  who  had  the  name  of  being  a  hot-headed, 
quarrelsome  fellow,  and  a  reckless  one.  Over  some 
matter  concerning  the  division  of  the  spoils  of  a 
day's  hunt  had  begun  the  quarrel  with  Antoine. 
Victor  had  recognized  in  Antoine  an  early  acquaint 
ance  with  whom  he  had  never  been  upon  very  good 
terms,  even  in  the  old  days  of  their  youth,  and  he 
lost  no  opportunity  of  showing  his  feeling.  So  little 
value  was  set  upon  life  in  these  wilds  of  America 
that  a  touch,  a  word,  and  the  swords  would  fly  out, 
the  pistols  would  be  drawn,  and  the  man  least  on 
his  guard  wrould  come  off  worst. 

Petit  Marc  reflected  upon  this  as  he  stood  regard 
ing  Antoine,  who,  with  burning  gaze,  did  not  remove 

215 


216  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

his  eyes  from  the  peaceful  face  of  Father  Bisset. 
"He  shall  die,"  at  last  said  Marc. 

Antoine  looked  up.     "  He  shall  die,"  he  repeated. 

Marc  held  his  pistol  in  his  hand ;  he  turned  it 
over  and  looked  at  it  critically.  "  I  promise  you 
that,"  he  said.  "As  for  you,  Antoine." 

"I  must  live  to  return  to  France  to  face  them 
there." 

Marc  looked  at  him  reflectively.  "Is  it  worth 
while?"  he  asked.  "  Life  is  short  at  best.  We  are 
forgotten  there ;  we  may  as  well  not  stir  up  dead 
embers  from  which  no  fire  can  again  be  kindled. 
Who  lives  now  that  would  care  ?  I  advise  you  to 
remain  and  live  out  the  life  you  have  begun  here ;  it 
is  a  good  life." 

"  If  I  live,  I  will  go  back,  but  first  I  wish  to  know 
that  Victor  Le  Roux  no  longer  lives.  I  wish  first  to 
kill  him." 

"And  return  with  the  stain  upon  your  hands  of 
which  they  were  clean  when  you  left?"  Marc  con 
tinued. 

Antoine  fell  back  upon  his  uncouth  bed.  "  One 
does  not  expect  moralizing  from  you,  Marc  Lenoir," 
he  said. 

Marc  smiled.  "  No,  I  profess  nothing.  I  am  be 
come  a  coureur  de  bois ;  I  do  not  belie  my  charac 
ter.  I  do  not  pretend  to  be  anything  else  than  a 
lawless  runner  of  the  woods,  a  man  who  cares  for 
neither  God,  man,  nor  the  devil.  I  have  no  wish  to 
vaunt  a  claim  to  respectability,  even,  grant  you,  a 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   THE   WOODS       217 

right  to  do  so  is  accorded  me.  I  escaped  the  country 
after  a  charge  of  robbery,  a  political  robbery  at  that." 
He  laughed.  "As  if  that  were  an  uncommon  thing. 
Ma  foi !  if  every  political  robber  were  transported  to 
the  colonies,  what  an  immense  increase  there  would 
be  in  the  population  !  I  never  wronged  a  man  in  my 
life,  unless  the  sending  of  a  half-dozen  Iroquois  to 
the  Happy  Hunting-Grounds  be  considered  a  wrong 
to  them.  I  do  not  go  now  to  France  for  justice ;  I 
work  it  out  for  myself  here,  and  I  say  that  Victor  Le 
Roux  must  die.  I  constitute  myself  judge,  and  I 
shall  not  find  it  hard  to  discover  the  executioner." 
He  turned  and  left  the  room,  closing  the  door  very 
gently. 

It  was  days  before  he  returned,  and  then  it  was 
to  find  that  for  Father  Bisset  had  been  made  a  grave 
in  a  sheltered  spot  in  the  forest,  and  that  by  his  side 
lay  Antoine  Crepin,  who  never  again  saw  France, 
but  who  hugged  to  himself  the  promise  of  his  re 
turn  even  up  to  the  last  moment.  "  We  will  go  in 
the  spring,  Jeanne,1'  he  said  over  and  over.  "  In 
the  spring,  when  I  am  well  and  strong,  and  the 
leaves  are  coming  out.  We  will  take  the  child  to 
Manhatte,  and  will  sail  from  there."  But  it  was  to 
an  eternal  spring  that  he  went  home. 

In  these  years  Jeanne  Crepin,  always  cheerful, 
humorous,  vivacious,  had  enlarged  these  qualities  by 
adding  a  devil-may-care  manner.  Spontaneously 
free  and  easy  by  nature,  she  had  found  no  curb 
necessary  in  this  life  of  unrestrained  wildness,  and 


218  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

it  suited  her.  Her  husband's  bitterness  of  spirit 
caused  him  to  grow  taciturn  and  grim,  making  him 
look  a  much  older  man  than  he  was,  and,  to  offset 
this,  Jeanne,  at  first  in  desperation,  and  later  in 
natural  response  to  her  limitless  environment,  was 
always  ready  with  jest,  with  smile,  with  song.  The 
coquetries  of  her  girlhood  were  exchanged  for  a 
certain  audacity  which  stood  her  in  good  stead  with 
the  rough  voyageurs,  who  were  about  her  only 
friends,  unless  one  excepted  the  Indian  squaws  and 
their  braves.  Deeply  as  she  loved  her  brother  and 
her  husband,  and  faithfully  as  she  mourned  them, 
hers  was  not  a  nature  to  brood,  and  she  simply 
checked  off  her  grief  as  one  more  wrong  to  lay  to 
the  charge  of  France,  and  accounted  it  no  treachery  to 
say  that  she  abjured  her  country. 

"  For  me  what  has  France  done  ?  Sent  us  here, 
Antoine  and  I.  Not  so  bad,  you  say  ?  No,  but  one 
suffers  before  one  gets  used  to  it,  and  now  Jacques 
lies  there  in  the  forest.  God  knows  I  am  thankful 
he  had  not  more  to  endure,  yet,  for  all  that,  I  lay 
his  death  to  the  charge  of  those  who  haled  him  out 
of  his  quiet  corner.  And  Antoine,  was  he  not 
hounded  and  pursued  by  vindictive  wretches  who 
took  on  hearsay  his  guilt  when  he  was  innocent? 
Do  I  forgive  France  the  bitterness  of  his  life,  the  put 
ting  out  of  the  light  of  his  youth?  No,  long  ago 
Antoine  and  I  decided  that  we  owed  France  nothing." 

She  was  talking  to  Petit  Marc,  who  had  stopped 
to  tell  her  the  news  from  the  settlements  and  to  ask 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   THE   WOODS       219 

how  the  boy  fared.  He  had  just  returned  from  a 
long  journey.  What  he  had  accomplished  he  did 
not  tell,  save  that  Victor  Le  Roux  had  come  to  his 
end  at  the  hands  of  two  Indians.  "  He  deserved 
what  he  got,"  Marc  said,  laconically,  and  Jeanne  did 
not  question  further. 

"The  boy?"  Jeanne  in  her  half-mannish  attire 
stood  in  the  doorway  of  her  lodge ;  she  looked 
quizzically  at  Petit  Marc.  "  The  boy  is  well  enough." 
She  laughed  softly.  "  I  shall  keep  him  here  till  the 
snows  are  gone." 

"And  then?"  Petit  Marc  asked. 

"Time  enough  to  tell  when  the  time  comes." 
Jeanne  snapped  her  fingers  as  if  to  dismiss  the 
subject. 

Petit  Marc  stood  shifting  his  cap  from  hand  to 
hand.  "  Can't  I  see  him  ?  You  keep  him  as  close 
as  if  he  were  a  week's  old  baby." 

Jeanne  laughed  again.  "  If  you  can  keep  a  secret, 
Marc  Lenoir,  you  may  see  my  baby." 

"  If  it  is  a  secret  that  has  the  boy  in  it,  you  may 
trust  me." 

Jeanne  gave  an  assenting  nod  which  invited  Marc 
to  follow  her  indoors,  and  he  saw,  sitting  demurely 
by  the  open  fire,  Alaine  deftly  sewing  together  bits 
of  doeskin.  She  wore  a  little  cap  set  upon  her 
brown  curls,  and  despite  her  furry  jacket  and  leather 
leggings,  there  was  such  an  unmistakable  air  of 
femininity  in  her  attitude  and  employment  that  Marc 
at  first  stared,  and  then  exclaimed,  "  A  girl !" 


220  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  Surely.  A  young  lady  of  good  birth,  Mademoi 
selle  Hervieu,  of  Rouen,  now  in  flight  from  a 
would-be  lover,  who  more  than  once  has  carried  her 
off,  and  from  whom  she  has  as  often  miraculously 
escaped.  On  this  account  she  has  disguised  herself, 
for  she  wishes  to  elude  discovery  till  she  is  safe  at 
home  again." 

Petit  Marc  stood  abashed  before  the  young  lady, 
but  Alaine  smiled  and  dimpled.  "You  need  not  be 
afraid  of  me,  Petit  Marc,"  she  said.  u  I  am  as  good 
a  friend  as  when  you  taught  me  how  to  trap  a 
beaver.  Sit  down  and  tell  me  about  them  all,  Gros 
Edouard,  Ricard  of  the  big  nose,  and  all  the  rest. 
I  shall  never  forget  how  good  you  all  were  to  me  on 
that  wild  journey  from  Quebec." 

Petit  Marc  dropped  his  big  hulk  on  a  bench  and 
sat  looking  at  the  fire ;  then  he  turned  to  Alaine 
with  a  dawning  smile.  "  No  wonder  that  General 
Jacques  stood  guard  over  you,  and  looked  as  if  he 
would  skin  and  devour  us  one  after  another  if  we 
so  much  as  said  '  the  devil !'  in  your  presence.  He 
had  a  way,  that  General  Jacques,  and  we  all  won 
dered  afterwards  why  on  that  trip  we  kept  our 
mouths  so  uncommonly  sweet.  Yet,  mademoiselle, 
I  think  you  must  have  heard  some  things  you  never 
heard  before." 

Jeanne  spoke  up  sharply.  "  You  need  not  remind 
her  of  that,  Petit  Marc.  It  is  I  who  now  stand 
guard." 

"  You !"  Petit  Marc  burst  into  a  rousing  laugh. 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   THE   WOODS       221 

"  My  faith,  Jeanne,  you  will  have  to  walk  backward 
for  more  than  one  year  before  you  come  to  where 
you  left  off  being  a  lady.1' 

Jeanne  glowered  at  him.  u  I  have  not  forgotten 
how,"  she  returned ;  "  but  you,  Petit  Marc,  could 
never  have  been  a  gentleman  even  at  your  best,  and 
when  you  were  there  in  Paris,  of  which  you  pretend 
to  know  so  much.  Circumstances  did  not  need  to 
change  you  so  noticeably.  For  me,  I  repeat,  I  do 
not  forget,  and  one  need  not  wear  court  manners  to 
be  called  a  good  woman." 

Petit  Marc  became  suddenly  sober,  although  he 
said,  lightly  enough,  "Ta,  ta,  Jeanne,  it  was  but  a 
rough  joke,  the  like  you  have  heard  dozens  of  times. 
You  are  become  suddenly  touchy,  and  no  wonder. 
You  shall  not  complain  of  me  again,  and  if  you  need 
me,  I,  too,  will  remember  that  it  does  not  take  court 
manners  to  make  one  a  good  man.  I  will  remember 
that — if  I  can."  He  laughed  again,  Nothing  long 
disturbed  his  gay  humor.  He  would  be  ready  for  a 
jocular  remark  a  moment  after  he  had  killed  his 
worst  enemy  or  buried  his  best  friend.  He  stretched 
his  huge  length  along  the  bench  and  looked  good- 
naturedly  at  Jeanne,  who  responded  with  a  half 
smile.  "I  pray  you  keep  to  that,"  she  said.  "If  I 
want  you,  I  shall  expect  you  to  come." 

"  I  will  come."  He  rose  to  his  feet.  u  But  at 
present  I  go.  I  will  look  in  to-morrow,  Jeanne. 
Adieu,  mademoiselle."  He  bowed  with  a  grace  not 
learned  from  savages  and  went  out. 


222  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"Ta,  ta,  ta,"  said  Jeanne.  "He  is  not  so  bad, 
after  all,  and  we  shall  need  him  some  day.  I  shall 
not  soon  forget  what  he  has  done  for  us  all,  poor 
Petit  Marc."  She  sighed,  but  recovered  herself  at 
once.  She  was  stoically  gay  with  Alaine,  who,  ner 
vous  and  overwrought,  was  none  too  amiable  these 
days.  It  seemed  that  the  association  with  Jeanne 
had  given  back  some  of  the  petulance  of  her  child 
hood. 

"You  are  so  big,  so  like  a  man,  Jeanne,"  she 
would  say.  "  How  can  you  pretend  to  know  what 
a  girl  feels  ?  You  keep  me  shut  up  here  like  a  rabbit 
in  a  hutch,  and  I  want  to  go ;  I  must  go.  I  am 
weary  of  this  life.  How  long  do  we  stay  ?" 

"  Till  I  learn  to  remember  the  graces  of  my  youth," 
Jeanne  would  reply,  laughing.  "  You  will  be  ashamed 
of  me  there  among  your  friends.  How  does  one 
carry  a  train,  for  example  ?"  And  she  would  give 
her  blanket  a  sweep  across  the  floor  with  the  air  of 
a  court  lady. 

"  So  foolish  you  are,  Jeanne.  We  do  not  wear 
court  clothes  at  New  Rochelle,  and  besides,  you 
know  they  do  not  countenance  the  papists  there. 
So,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  that  ?" 

"Am  I,  then,  a  papist?"  Jeanne  looked  medita 
tive.  "  I  think  I  buried  all  that  with  Jacques.  I 
am  whatever  is  convenient,  Alaine.  I  am  like  those 
fish  which  are  one  thing  up  here  among  the  French 
and  another  down  there  with  the  Dutch.  Call  me 
whichever  you  will,  I  am  to  the  taste  of  whoever 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   THE   WOODS       223 

likes  me.  I  am  a  man,  am  I  ?  Then  come  sit  on 
my  knee  and  be  my  sweetheart."  And  she  would 
seize  Alaine  bodily,  giving  her  a  sounding  smack, 
and  jolt  her  up  and  down  till  she  begged  for  mercy. 

It  was  worth  while  to  see  this  daughter  of  the 
woods  go  stalking  off,  gun  in  hand,  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  Indian  village,  where  she  was  well  known 
and  liked  for  her  fearlessness,  her  kindliness,  and 
her  skill.  The  Man- Wife  they  called  her,  or  Jeanne 
the  white  brave.  Whistling  she  would  go,  her  great 
snow-shoes  planted  dexterously  at  every  step,  and 
returning,  would  bring  such  game  as  she  had  shot 
or  trapped  or  could  barter  for.  More  than  once 
Alaine  had  begged  the  life  of  a  wounded  squirrel  or 
a  timid  rabbit,  till  the  lodge  by  degrees  became  the 
home  of  several  of  these  pets,  these  serving  as  com 
pany  for  Alaine,  who,  in  Jeanne's  absence,  bolted 
and  barred  in,  passed  long  solitary  hours. 

For  all  Jeanne's  brave  front,  Alaine  would  some 
times  find  her  sitting  on  the  floor  of  the  inner  room, 
in  her  eyes  the  agony  of  love  and  longing  as  she 
held  hugged  to  her  the  old  leathern  jacket  Antoine 
had  worn,  or  pressed  to  her  cheek  the  dingy  fur  cap 
which  had  dropped  from  his  head  that  day  when 
they  brought  him  home.  Therefore  Jeanne  did  not 
forget,  but  made  her  moan  silently.  Under  the  in 
different  manner  toward  matters  religious  Alaine 
discovered,  too,  a  conscience  as  that  of  a  Puritan, 
an  unswerving  fidelity  to  truth,  to  purity,  and  right 
eous  dealing.  Jacques  Bisset  spoke  the  truth  when 


224  BECAUSE   OF    CONSCIENCE 

he  called  his  sister  a  good  woman.  The  men  might 
laugh  and  joke  with  her,  but  only  to  a  certain  point, 
beyond  that  she  was  as  prim  as  a  Quaker,  and  they 
knew  the  limit.  With  the  Indians  she  was  uniformly 
frank  and  considerate,  never  failing  to  be  generous 
in  her  trades  with  them.  Therefore  the  forest  could 
not  hold  a  better  guardian  for  a  wandering  maid 
than  Jeanne  Crepin. 

In  her  fur  cap  and  jacket,  her  leathern  breeches 
and  short  skirt,  with  her  gruff  voice  and  her  great 
height,  one  could  scarce  discern  that  she  was  not 
a  man,  a  fact  which  she  rather  enjoyed.  "  Who 
cares  what  I  am  ?"  she  would  say.  "  So  long  as  I 
know  how  to  make  my  way  and  am  comfortable  so, 
I  do  not  care.11  She  had  made  Alaine  a  similar  cos 
tume.  "We  will  travel  in  this  dress,1'  she  told  her, 
"  and  while  they  are  puzzling  over  whether  we  are 
men  or  women,  it  will  give  us  the  advantage.  We 
will  start  before  the  Iroquois  begin  their  raids.  I 
know  the  language  of  some  of  their  tribes,  and  I 
think  I  can  manage  to  get  on,  yet  it  is  not  altogether 
a  pleasure  jaunt  we  Avill  take.  At  first  I  thought  we 
wrould  best  go  alone,  but  I  think  we  will  let  Petit 
Marc  go  with  us,  at  least  part  of  the  way,  till  we 
cross  into  the  Dutch  country.  You  know  a  little  of 
their  language  ?11 

"A  little,  and  some  English.11 

"We  shall  do,  I  think.  Down  the  river  to  the 
Richelieu,  through  the  lake  to  the  carrying-place, 
and  then  down  the  Hudson.  I  have  studied  it  all 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   THE   WOODS       225 

out.  Petit  Marc  has  been  there  to  Orange,  and  he 
knows.  Now,  teach  me  the  English  words  you 
know,  and  see  if  I  can  remember  some  of  the  man 
ners  I  had  when  I  was  a  girl.  Does  one  courtesy  so  ? 
And  what  does  a  woman  say  when  a  man  praises 
her  beauty  ?" 

Alaine  laughed  at  the  simper  upon  Jeanne's  face 
and  the  awkward  dip  of  her  gaunt  figure. 

"I  shall  want  to  overpower  Michelle  with  my 
elegance,"  Jeanne  rattled  on.  "Michelle  the  house 
keeper,  the  nurse  of  the  Hervieus,  and  I  the  wife  of 
as  gay  a  cavalier  as  one  could  find  in  all  Paris,  and 

now "  She  stretched  out  her  hands,  knotted 

and  browned.  "  Where  is  the  Jeanne  Bisset  who 
could  grace  a  silken  robe,  and  whose  hands  were  as 
soft  as  the  laces  which  covered  them  ?  She  is  gone, 
and  Michelle  rises,  the  wife  of  a  man  of  education 
and  good  blood.  I  am  a  daughter  of  the  woods, 
the  wife  of  an  outcast.  So  it  goes.  Yet  I  would 
not  have  it  otherwise  ;  it  was  for  you,  Antoine,"  she 
murmured.  Then  with  a  twirl  of  her  body  she  cut 
such  a  caper  as  set  Alaine  laughing.  "  How  does 
one  dance  a  figure  ?"  she  asked. 

"  We  shall  probably  find  you  do  not  forget  the 
dancing,"  the  girl  returned.  "  I  think  we  can  spare 
you  that  lesson,  Jeanne." 

"Then  be  you  Michelle  and  I  the  grande  dame 
of  her  remembrance."  Jeanne's  quick  fingers  fash 
ioned  a  turban  from  her  kerchief.  She  spread  a  fur 
robe  across  her  knees,  picked  up  the  turkey-tail  they 

15 


226  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

used  for  sweeping  up  the  hearth,  and  assumed  a 
languishing  air. 

"  Madame  Herault."    Alaine  swept  her  a  courtesy. 

uAh,  my  good  Michelle,  I  remember  you  quite 
well.  You  used  to  give  me  curds  and  whey  in  your 
dairy.  Do  you  still  manage  a  dairy,  Michelle  ?" 

u  Yes,  madame,  but  a  small  affair,  not  to  be  com 
pared  to  that  which  you  remember." 

"  And  your  good  husband  ?  I  hear  he  is  some 
thing  of  a  student.  Do  you  find  time  to  assist  him 
in  his  studies?" 

"No,  madame;  on  the  contrary,  he  assists  me  to 
plough  a  furrow  to  make  the  garden,  to  gather  in  our 
crops.11 

"  Indeed  ?"  Jeanne  raised  her  eyebrows  in  such 
supercilious  surprise  that  Alaine  clapped  her  hands. 

u  You  have  not  forgotten,  Jeanne.  You  will  do  ? 
I  feel  myself  quite  crushed  by  your  elegance.1' 

Jeanne  threw  aside  her  robe  and  the  turkey-tail 
she  carried  for  a  fan  and  jumped  to  her  feet.  "  But 
it  would  weary  me,  it  would  weary  me.  Ciel !  when 
I  remember  the  hours  one  must  sit  trussed  up  in 
tight  clothes !"  She  gave  her  shoulders  a  hitch. 
"  It  wearies  me  but  to  remember  it.  No,  I  will  not 
return  to  civilization,  Alaine." 

"Then  what  will  you  do?" 

"  I  don't  know.  As  my  brother  would  say,  I 
will  do  the  Lord's  will."  The  light  was  sinking  in 
the  sky.  Outside  howled  the  wolves  and  the  wintry 
winds ;  it  was  desolate,  desolate.  But  with  the 


A   DAUGHTER   OF   THE    WOODS       227 

touch  of  spring  would  come  the  Iroquois  roused  to 
action,  and  those  who  ventured  from  their  fortified 
places  might  never  expect  to  see  home  again.  Better, 
safer,  to  go  farther  up  the  country  away  from  the 
bordering  river  lands,  to  fear  no  worse  foe  than  the 
beasts  of  the  forests,  thought  Jeanne.  She  sank  into 
the  big  chair  and  rested  her  chin  in  her  hands. 
"  Life  is  sweet ;  it  is  strange  that  it  is  so  ;  and  if  we 
go  away  yonder  we  may  face  terrible  death.  Better 
to  slip  out  of  the  world  and  die  by  wasting  disease 
than  to  be  captured  and  tortured.  Shall  we  not 
stay,  Alaine?  We  can  go  far  from  the  dangers  of 
war.  Who  cares  for  the  glory  of  France  or  England 
now?"  She  sat  gazing  into  the  fire,  her  dark  hair, 
which  she  had  unbound  to  play  the  lady,  falling  about 
her  face.  "  Petit  Marc  says  there  will  be  war-parties 
everywhere  when  the  spring  opens,"  she  con 
tinued.  "  One  cannot  be  safe  anywhere  along  the 
border." 

"I  would  rather  die  by  the  way,"  Alaine  cried 
out.  "I  will  go,  Jeanne;  I  must."  Then,  after  a 
pause,  "  I  am  selfish,  Jeanne.  I  will  not  have  you 
go  with  me.  I  will  not  allow  you  to  take  the  risk 
of  capture  or  a  worse  death.  I  will  find  the  way 
somehow." 

Jeanne  sat  up  straight.  "We  will  go  together. 
Enough  said.  As  well  one  way  as  another.  Would 
it  be  worth  my  while  to  stay  alone  ?  If  death,  the 
sooner  I  meet  Antoine.  If  capture,  I  can  bear  it.  I 
am  used  to  the  ways  of  the  Indians ;  it  might  not  be 


228  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

so  hard  to  me,  after  all.  Yes,  we  will  go,  Alaine.  I 
fear  more  for  you  than  for  myself,  that  is  all." 

Therefore,  before  the  last  snows  had  melted  or 
the  first  bluebird  had  come,  Alaine  set  free  her  pets  : 
the  squirrel  which  had  become  so  tame  that  he  would 
hide  his  nuts  in  her  hair ;  the  rabbit  which  hopped 
after  her  everywhere  she  went,  and  which  now 
scurried  off  into  the  nearest  brush ;  the  cunning  fox- 
cub  with  his  bright,  sharp  eyes,  which  had  been  wont 
to  curl  himself  up  into  a  sleepy  ball  in  her  lap,  but 
which  now  pricked  up  his  ears  and  set  out  jauntily 
to  seek  adventures.  "Adieu,  my  little  friends," 
sighed  Alaine;  "you  go  into  the  woods  where  are 
enemies  you  know  not  of,  and  I  go  my  way  into  like 
dangers.  We  shall  never  see  each  other  again." 
She  watched  them  disappear.  Into  what  perils 
were  they  going  who  seemed  to  be  so  glad  of  free 
dom  ?  The  talons  of  an  eagle,  the  fangs  of  a  wolf, 
the  bullet  from  a  hunter's  rifle,  might  end  the  exist 
ence  of  any  or  all  of  them  before  night. 

She  turned  sadly  away  to  join  Petit  Marc  and 
Jeanne,  who,  standing  side  by  side,  seemed  as  if  they 
might  be  the  children  of  a  giant  race.  As  they 
passed  by  the  two  graves  under  a  sombre  pine  they 
all  paused ;  Jeanne  knelt,  the  other  two  walked  on. 
A  few  moments  later  Jeanne  joined  them ;  she  did 
not  look  back,  nor  did  she  have  jest  or  word  for 
either  of  her  companions  until  they  reached  the 
water's  edge,  where  Marc  made  ready  to  launch  his 
canoe. 


CHAPTER    XIV 

PIERRE,  THE    ENGAGE 

DURING  all  these  months  it  had  not  fared  well  with 
Pierre  Boutillier.  A  baleful  star  seemed  to  control 
his  life.  Of  a  poetic,  morbidly  religious  tempera 
ment,  he  was  of  the  stuff  of  which  martyrs  are 
made.  His  love  for  Alaine  represented  the  poetry 
of  his  nature  ;  his  voluntary  sacrifice  the  depth  of 
his  religious  fervor.  Had  he  remained  in  the  Roman 
Church  he  would  probably  have  entered  some  austere 
order  of  monks,  and,  by  repeated  scourgings  and 
penances,  would  have  become  a  saintly  father ;  as  it 
was,  he  was  resolved  that  his  love  demanded  a  con 
secration  of  his  life,  and  he  sailed  away  in  search  of 
a  battle  to  fight  or  a  martyrdom  to  endure. 

The  martyrdom  was  in  sight  when  he  approached 
the  shores  of  Guadaloupa.  It  had  been  but  two  or 
three  years  since  he  had  escaped  from  that  place,  a 
slave  running  away  from  a  cruel  master.  It  was  the 
policy  of  those  who  led  the  persecution  of  the  Hu 
guenots  to  make  the  life  of  the  engage  as  hard  as 
possible,  as  a  warning  to  those  uncertainly  arrayed 
upon  the  side  of  the  Protestants  and  as  a  means 
of  compelling  any  to  conform.  Therefore,  half- 
starved,  beaten,  hard  worked,  the  poor  engage"  lived 
till  his  strength  failed  under  the  burning  suns  and 

229 


230  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

he  died,  less  considered  than  the  beasts  of  the 
field. 

It  was  with  a  momentary  feeling  of  weakness,  of 
heart-sickness,  and  desire  to  retreat  that  Pierre  set 
foot  on  shore.  He  could  feel  the  lash  of  the  whip, 
he  could  hear  the  coarse  jeers,  the  taunts,  the  curses. 
He  could  see  the  face  of  his  master,  insolently  cruel. 
He  stood  a  moment  irresolutely  looking  about  him, 
and  then  slowly  proceeded  toward  a  building  the 
use  of  which  he  seemed  to  know.  Here  were  vari 
ous  offices,  and  here  he  would  find  the  ship's  lists. 
Was  there  one  Theodore  Hervieu  upon  them  ?  If 
so,  where  could  he  be  found?  A  man  with  keen 
eyes  rapidly  examined  the  lists.  No,  there  was  no 
one  of  that  name.  Still,  one  could  not  tell ;  there 
were  those  who  were  sent  out  as  convicts  under 
assumed  names.  It  might  not  be  impossible  to  find 
such  a  one.  Yet,  it  took  time  and  money.  A 
good  ransom  offered,  and  there  would  probably  be 
a  response  if  the  man  were  still  alive.  Was  there 
anything  in  it  for  one  who  knew  the  methods  ?  if 

so Pierre  shook  his  head.  No,  not  much  ;  the 

man  was  an  engage,  Huguenot,  he  had  promised 
friends  to  make  inquiry. 

"Pouf!"  A  wave  of  the  hand  dismissed  all  in 
terest  in  the  subject.  "  Let  him  go.  He  is  dead,  in 
all  probability,  and  a  good  riddance.  It  would  take 
weeks  to  follow  it  up,  unless  one  had  a  certain 
clue?1'  And  the  official  settled  himself  back,  while 
Pierre  went  out  and  gazed  up  the  long  road.  He 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGfi  231 

stood  for  a  moment  thinking,  and  then  slowly  ad 
vanced  up  the  dusty  way  leading  to  the  plantation 
he  best  knew. 

He  had  no  need  to  travel  far.  His  was  not  a  face 
to  forget ;  he  had  not  walked  far  when  he  came  face 
to  face  with  the  man  who  called  himself  his  master, 
and  from  whom  he  had  escaped  three  years  before. 
The  recognition  was  mutual ;  the  red-faced,  testy 
man  who  confronted  the  pale  young  Huguenot  raised 
his  heavy  stick.  "  Dog  of  a  Huguenot !  Knave ! 
Vile  renegade  !  You  dare  to  return  and  face  me  !" 
The  stick  descended  upon  Pierre's  head  and 
shoulders,  blow  after  blow  fell  until,  bruised  and  un 
conscious,  he  lay  at  his  master's  feet,  to  remain  there 
till  some  one  could  be  sent  to  take  him  up  and  bear 
him  to  the  slave's  quarters  on  the  plantation,  there 
to  lie,  bereft  of  reason,  for  days.  "  He  shall  have 
the  full  benefit  of  the  lash  when  he  is  able  to  stand 
up  !"  roared  the  planter.  "  Did  he  think  to  fool 
me?  I  do  not  forget  faces,  and  he  shall  serve  his 
time  and  then  double  it,  the  impudent  whelp.  Let 
me  know  when  he  is  on  his  feet."  And  to  this  pros 
pect  Pierre  was  to  awaken. 

Meanwhile,  from  the  port  of  New  York  had  set 
out  a  vessel  laden  with  merchandise  for  the  Carriby 
Islands.  The  cargo,  carefully  selected,  was  looked 
after  by  one  of  the  owners  of  the  vessel,  who,  sail 
ing  southward,  would  carry  his  goods  to  be  exchanged 
for  sugar,  molasses,  and  rum,  with  such  articles  as 
could  readily  find  a  sale  in  the  burgh  of  New  York. 


232  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

He  was  a  tall,  well-formed  young  fellow,  this  trader, 
who  talked  little,  thought  much,  and  saw  a  great 
deal.  He  had  made  his  journey  into  the  wilds  of 
the  country,  and  had  proved  himself  a  good  man  in 
the  matter  of  bringing  home  pelts,  and  this  being 
his  first  venture  in  foreign  fields,  he  was  more  than 
usually  concerned.  Beyond  this,  another  matter 
lay  very  near  his  heart,  for,  with  practical  fore 
thought,  along  with  this  expedition,  which  he  hoped 
would  benefit  him  financially,  he  was  bent  upon 
carrying  out  a  plan  over  which  he  had  spent  many 
hours  of  thought.  This  was  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  the  release  of  one  Theodore  Hervieu,  who,  he 
had  heard,  was  bondman  in  Guadaloupa,  for  Lendert 
Verplanck  was  setting  about  his  errand  in  a  very 
different  way  from  that  which  suggested  itself  to  the 
less  practical  Pierre.  He  would  hunt  up  Pierre,  and 
the  two  would  proceed  to  discover  M.  Hervieu. 
They  would  return  and  let  Alaine's  father  decide 
which  was  the  better  man  of  the  two. 

Lendert  measured  Pierre  by  his  own  standards, 
and  had  not  much  faith  in  the  young  Huguenot's 
efforts  at  liberating  M.  Hervieu.  In  his  quiet  way 
Lendert  had  observed  a  great  deal,  and  he  felt  sure 
that,  ardent  and  zealous  as  Pierre  might  be,  his  plans 
would  lack  system,  and  so  fall  short  of  their  object. 
The  matter  had  been  given  careful  thought  by  the 
young  Dutchman.  He  knew  the  laws  of  the  colony 
forbade  a  marriage  without  the  consent  of  parents, 
and  the  thing,  therefore,  was  to  obtain  M.  Hervieu's 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGtf  233 

consent,  and  then  his  own  mother's  approval.  Len- 
dert  realized  that  he  had  set  himself  something  of  a 
task,  but  his  slow  persistence  in  overcoming  diffi 
culties  would  avail  him  much,  and  he  would  take 
time.  Yes,  he  would  not  go  about  it  with  a  rush,  as 
Pierre  did  ;  he  would  take  time. 

And  so  he  sailed  to  Guadaloupa,  sold  his  cargc, 
made  his  inquiries,  learned  next  to  nothing,  and  then 
sailed  home  again  to  think  it  over  and  to  decide 
what  to  do  next.  He  returned  to  find  Alaine  lost, 
Pierre  still  absent,  and  no  light  anywhere  to  guide 
him.  But  true  to  his  usual  method  of  proceeding, 
he  resolved  to  take  time  to  think  about  what  to  do 
next,  not  counting  Alaine  lost  to  him  till  it  were 
proved  so,  and  not  believing  Pierre  dead  till  he 
found  out  that  there  was  no  possibility  of  his  being 
alive.  Then  he  decided  that  the  next  thing  to  do 
was  to  make  another  trip  and  find  Pierre,  about 
whose  movements  he  had  further  satisfied  himself, 
and  had  evidence  that  he  had  shipped  for  Guada 
loupa  and  had  landed  there.  Before  he  should  go 
Lendert  determined  that  he  would  first  see  Michelle 
and  Papa  Louis  to  discover  if  they  had  anything  to 
add  to  their  first  news  of  Alaine's  disappearance. 
Next  he  would  see  his  mother,  and  then  he  would 
make  his  second  trip,  having  a  little  more  no\v  to 
put  into  his  next  cargo.  Having  arranged  this  busi 
ness,  he  set  out  for  New  Rochelle. 

It  was  with  some  moderate  excitement  that  Trynje 
Van  der  Been  ran  up  to  the  goede  vrow  De  Vries 


234  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

one  morning  in  May.  Two  Frenchmen  were  below 
asking  shelter.  Were  they  to  be  admitted  ?  Might 
they  not  be  spies?  The  lad,  to  be  sure,  had  a 
pretty  face  and  the  man  looked  pleasant,  and  both 
were  dressed  rather  oddly.  Trynje  was  suspicious, 
and  would  the  mistress  of  the  house  say  what  was 
to  be  done? 

In  all  her  breadth  of  petticoats  the  lady  descended 
to  the  yard  where  stood  the  two  wayfarers.  The 
elder  could  speak  no  Dutch  and  knew  but  little 
English ;  the  other  could  speak  a  little  of  both,  and 
assured  the  goede  vrow  that  they  but  wanted  shelter 
and  directions  for  reaching  New  York.  "  We  are  Hu 
guenots,"  was  announced,  "  and  have  escaped  many 
perils  and  have  gone  through  many  adventures." 

Madam  De  Vries  looked  the  little  figure  over,  and 
saw  that  the  tanned,  roughened  hands  were  slender 
and  the  brown  eyes  wistful  and  full  of  intelligence. 

"  We  are  not  beggars ;  we  are  but  unfortunates 
who  escape  from  our  enemies,"  said  the  lad,  in  broken 
English. 

"Take  them  to  Maria,"  said  Madam,  turning  to 
Trynje ;  "  she  can  see  that  they  are  lodged  and  fed. 
When  they  are  satisfied  and  are  rested,  fetch  the 
boy  to  me." 

Trynje  obeyed  and  cast  many  curious  looks  at  the 
graceful  lad,  who  ate  heartily  enough,  but  seemed  ill 
at  ease  under  the  girl's  scrutiny.  Yet  he  followed 
her  willingly  when  summoned  to  return  to  the 
house. 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGE  235 

Trynje  ushered  her  charge  into  Madam's  presence, 
and  stood  waiting  to  hear  what  was  to  be  said  next. 
"You  need  not  stay,  Trynje,"  said  Madam.  "Go 
and  look  after  the  looms  for  me  like  a  good  child." 
Trynje  smiled  and  obeyed.  She  rather  liked  this 
intimacy  which  the  treatment  of  her  as  a  daughter 
of  the  house  implied. 

Madam  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments  after  Trynje 
left,  her  eyes  observing  closely  the  figure  before  her. 
"  I  want  a  boy  about  the  place,"  she  said  in  French. 
"  Will  you  stay  and  work  for  me  ?  My  son  is  away, 
gone  on  some  mysterious  errand,  and  I  am  much 
alone.  Were  it  not  for  my  little  friend  who  gives 
me  her  frequent  presence,  I  should  be  left  with  only 
my  servants.  Can  you  read  and  write  ?" 

"  In  French,  yes.  A  little,  also,  in  both  Dutch 
and  English." 

Madam  nodded  with  a  satisfied  air.  "  Better  and 
better.  Will  you  stay?  I  will  pay  you  well." 

Alaine's  lips  twitched.  It  seemed  an  amusing 
situation.  Should  she  disclose  her  sex  ?  She  would 
not  without  first  speaking  to  Jeanne.  "  I  must  con 
sult  my  uncle,"  she  replied. 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  he  is  your  uncle  ?" 

"  Not  really,  but  the  same  as  one ;  but  for  him  I 
should  be  farther  from  home  than  I  am  now." 

"  At  all  events,  then,  you  can  stay  awhile.  I  can 
find  plenty  for  both  of  you  to  do.  My  overseer  has 
fallen  ill,  and  there  is  not  any  one  who  can  take  his 
place  ;  perhaps  your  uncle  would  help  me  there, 


236  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

and  for  you  I  can  find  writing  to  do.  I  have  need 
of  a  secretary,  being  given  to  other  employments 
which  I  like  better  than  that  of  writing  letters.  Let 
me  see,  you  must  be  better  clad.  My  son's  clothes 
would  be  much  too  large  for  you.  We  will  see  what 
can  be  done.  Call  Trynje  for  me ;  you  will  find  her 
in  the  sitting-room  by  this  time." 

Alaine  withdrew  and  summoned  the  girl,  who  ran 
ahead,  Alaine  slowly  following. 

From  her  chatelaine,  from  which  depended  many 
articles,  Madam  took  a  big  key.  "  Go  to  the  large 
chest,  the  oak  one  on  the  west  side  of  the  upper 
hall,  and  bring  me  a  roll  of  linen,"  she  bade  Trynje. 
"We  must  contrive  a  shirt  for  this  boy,  whom  I 
shall  take  into  the  house." 

A  red  flush  mounted  to  Alaine's  cheek,  but  she 
stood  watching  Trynje's  movements.  As  the  girl 
knelt  before  the  chest  the  sun  shone  on  her  yellow 
hair  and  smote  the  red  of  her  cheek.  She  was  a 
pleasant-looking  little  Dutch  maid,  round-faced  and 
blue-eyed,  slow  of  movement  and  of  speech.  Alaine 
waited  while  she  brought  the  roll  of  linen  and 
dropped  it  into  Madam's  lap. 

"  This  will  do,"  said  that  lady.  "  Here,  boy,  kneel 
here  and  I  will  measure  you.  Truly  he  has  a  pretty 
face,"  she  said  aside  to  Trynje,  and  Trynje  smiled  at 
Alaine,  who  in  good  fellowship  smiled  back,  and 
then  Trynje  dropped  her  eyes. 

"Roll  up  the  sleeve  of  that  jerkin  you  wear," 
Madam  commanded,  and  Alaine  obeyed.  The  firm, 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGfi  237 

smooth  arm,  muscular  and  strong  as  it  was,  seemed 
too  shapely  and  delicate  for  a  boy,  and  Madam 
dropped  the  linen,  looking  searchingly  into  the  girl's 
face.  "Stand  up,"  she  said,  and  she  herself  arose, 
laying  her  hand  lightly  upon  the  girl's  shoulder. 
Then  she  laughed.  "  Here,  Trynje,"  she  cried,  "  your 
blushes  were  for  naught ;  'tis  not  a  boy  at  all,  but  a 
girl.  Tell  us  your  story,  little  maid.  I  might  have 
known  from  the  first."  And  Alaine,  smiling  and 
blushing,  gave  an  account  of  herself,  but  said  nothing 
of  her  companion. 

u  So  !  So  !"  cried  Madam.  "  Such  a  romance, 
and  your  lover  is  probably  there  waiting  for  you." 

"My  lover?"  Alaine  gasped. 

"Yes;  not  that  kidnapping  Frenchman,  but  the 
one  you  say  has  gone  to  rescue  your  father.  He 
will  have  returned.  Yes,  yes,  I  see,  we  must  not 
detain  you  too  long.  Go  now  with  Trynje  and  let 
her  dress  you  up.  I  would  see  how  you  look  in  the 
dress  that  best  becomes  a  maid."  She  gave  her  a 
gentle  push  toward  Trynje's  outstretched  hand  of 
invitation.  "She  has  a  romance  too,  has  Trynje," 
Madam  continued,  playfully.  "  Let  her  tell  it  you." 

Alaine  followed  the  sturdy  little  Dutch  girl,  and 
was  herself  soon  petticoated  and  pranked  out  to 
Trynje's  delight.  Alaine  regarded  herself  in  the 
glass.  "  It  does  not  so  become  me  as  you,"  she  re 
marked,  "  for  I  have  not  your  fair  skin  and  yellow 
hair.  I  do  not  look  like  a  Dutch  girl  with  my  crop 
of  curls  instead  of  those  long  yellow  braids." 


238  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Trynje  laughed.  "  No,  but  you  will  do.  Come, 
I  will  take  you  down  to  Madam." 

"  And  the  romance  ?"  Alaine  paused  to  ask. 

Trynje  looked  down.  "  It  is  that  Madam  desires 
me  for  her  daughter-in-law." 

"And  you?" 

"  My  parents  do  not  know  this  ;  they  have  another 
in  view." 

"  But  you  prefer  this  one?'1 

Trynje  shook  her  head.  "  I  do  not  tell  that,11  she 
replied,  laughing. 

Madam  struck  her  hands  softly  together  as  the  two 
reappeared.  "A  better  maid  than  man,"  she  cried. 
"Go  fetch  the  Frenchman,  Trynje;  we  will  surprise 
him.  Hurry  back  and  let  us  see  you  both  together." 
She  laughed  as  she  looked  again  at  Alaine's  curly 
head.  "  Yes,  one  can  see  that  you  are  not  a  Dutch 
girl,"  she  said.  "  There,  place  yourself  in  that  corner 
and  Trynje  by  your  side."  She  turned  them  from 
the  light  when  Trynje  returned  to  take  her  place, 
and  then  at  Jeanne's  entrance  she  went  forward  to 
meet  her.  "I  am  glad  to  receive  and  entertain 
travellers,"  she  said,  graciously.  "M.  Crepin,  let 

me  present  you  to  Trynje  van  der  Deen  and " 

But  Jeanne  perceived  and  joined  in  the  laugh. 
"Alaine!"  she  cried.  "Thou,  little  one,  art  discov 
ered." 

"  Madam  wished  to  employ  me,11  said  Alaine,  "  but 
now  she  understands " 

"She  still  wishes  you  to  remain  as  long  as  you 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGfi  239 

will  if  you  will  do  her  the  service  of  helping  her  to 
manage  her  affairs."  She  looked  at  Jeanne. 

"  We  thank  you,  madam,"  said  Jeanne,  with  a 
bow  which  would  have  done  Francois  Dupont  credit. 
"My  niece  there  is  greatly  wearied.  It  is  no  small 
journey  to  take,  and  when  there  is  war  in  the  land 
there  is  more  danger  to  be  looked  for  than  that  of 
rapid  streams  and  wild  beasts." 

"He  who  led  you  thither,  where  is  he?" 

"  He  left  us  when  we  were  safe  in  English  posses 
sions." 

"  I  would  have  had  him  here  also,  for  he  must  be 
as  brave  as  yourself.  I  am  alone,  save  for  my  ser 
vants,  and  I  stand  in  continual  fear  of  a  raid  from 
some  of  your  Indians.  Yet,  I  do  not  wish  to  leave. 
I  expect  my  son  at  any  time,  and  hope  I  can  per 
suade  him  to  remain.  I  manage  this  place  with  the 
help  of  an  overseer  and  the  servants,  but  one  needs 
also  a  man  of  one's  o\vn  family.  When  he  mar 
ries,"  she  glanced  at  Trynje,  "I  can  hope  to  keep 
him  at  home." 

The  two  girls  had  retired  to  the  window.  Jeanne 
noted  the  direction  of  Madam's  glance.  "  It  is,  then, 
your  future  daughter-in-law  that  we  see  ?" 

"  It  is  my  future  daughter-in-law,"  replied  Madarn, 
compressing  her  lips.  "  My  son  must  obey  my  desire 
in  such  a  matter.  You  will  remain,  M.  Crepin  ?" 

"  Till  chance  favors  our  journey  farther." 

"A  few  days  more  or  less  can  make  no  differ 
ence." 


240  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  Delays  are  dangerous,  and  hope  deferred  maketh 
the  heart  sick.  The  child  there  has  friends  who 
mourn  for  her,  who  sicken  with  doubt  and  dread." 

"  I  understand  that,  yet  I  would  fain  detain  you 
till  my  son  returns.  He  can  give  you  the  best  infor 
mation  about  reaching  your  home,  and  will  see  that 
you  have  safe  conduct  down  the  river  to  Albany.  The 
girl  has  led  too  rough  a  life,  I  fear,  but  I  would  like  to 
give  Trynje  a  young  companion,  yet  I  wonder  would 
it  be  safe  for  her."  She  spoke  reflectively,  as  if 
not  addressing  any  one,  but  upon  Jeanne's  face  came 
a  look  such  as  her  brother  wore  upon  occasions. 

She  controlled  herself,  however,  and  said,  simply, 
u  The  girl  is  a  good  child,  madam.  I  have  guarded 
her  as  my  own  daughter.  She  is  as  pure  and  sweet 
as  yonder  maiden  could  possibly  be." 

"  But  she  has  spent  days  in  the  company  of  rough 
men,  has  heard  their  ribald  jests,  their  low  songs." 

"  She  has  not,  for  in  her  presence,  boy  though 
they  supposed  her  to  be,  they  dared  not  say  or  sing 
anything  she  might  not  hear." 

Madam  smiled.  "  The  fact  does  you  credit." 
She  waved  her  hand  as  if  to  dismiss  the  subject. 

Jeanne  bowed.  After  the  storm  and  stress  of  the 
past  few  weeks  it  would  not  be  unpleasant  to  take  a 
little  rest.  "  Meanwhile,"  continued  Madam,  with  a 
bright  glance  at  Alaine,  "  we  will  contrive  to  get 
word  to  the  girl's  friends.  It  will  be  enough  that 
they  know  she  is  safe  and  will  return  when  oppor 
tunity  allows.  Yes,  that  is  how  we  must  manage  it, 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGE,  241 

and  then  you  need  be  in  no  haste  to  depart.  I  will 
myself  send  letters  to  Orange."  She  leaned  her 
head  on  her  hand  and  looked  out  and  beyond  the 
tall  figure  before  her  into  the  light  of  spring.  Jeanne 
felt  herself  dismissed,  but  Madam  recalled  her. 
"  You  will  not  refuse  to  join  us  at  meals,  M.  Crepin? 
and  if  I  need  the  girl's  quick  fingers  with  my  letters, 
you  will  not  disallow  it?" 

"  We  shall  both  be  grateful,  madam." 

Madam  leaned  nearer  and  asked,  "She  inherits 
estates  in  France?" 

"  She  would  if  she  were  disposed  to  relinquish 
her  religion,  otherwise  they  are  confiscate." 

"  Ah  !     They  are  fair  estates  ?" 

"Very  fair.  Her  father  possessed  wealth  and 
position,  now  both  will  be  transferred  to  the  eldest 
son  of  his  sister,  one  fitienne  Villeneau." 

"Whom  the  girl  does  not  fancy?" 

"  As  cousins  they  were  good  friends,  but  as  hus 
band  and  wife,  that  is  another  thing." 

"  This  other,  the  wild,  piratical  Dupont,  of  whom 
the  girl  told  me,  what  is  his  object?" 

"  That,  madam,  I  have  yet  to  learn.  He  desires 
to  marry  mademoiselle,  it  would  seem." 

"  For  her  possible  wealth?" 

"I  think  not." 

"For  love  of  her?" 

"  Again,  I  think  not." 

"Then,  why?  I  wish  I  might  play  the  spy  on 
him.  It  is  a  pretty  tale  of  romance  of  which  I 

16 


242  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

would  fain  see  the  end.  And  this  Pierre  who  has 
gone  in  search  of  the  child's  father?" 

Jeanne  did  not  show  her  surprise.  She  had  not 
heard  of  Pierre  and  did  not  know  that  Alaine's  sud 
den  confidence  had  been  given  because  the  presence 
of  a  girl  of  her  own  age  had  invited  it.  "  Of  Pierre 
I  cannot  say,"  returned  Jeanne,  after  a  silence.  "  It 
has  been  some  time,  you  see,"  she  added,  diplomati 
cally. 

"And  all  these  months  the  girl  has  worn  this 
strange  garb.  I  wonder  she  could  so  endure  it. 
Twice,  she  tells  me,  she  has  been  obliged  to  don 
such  a  costume  for  purposes  of  escape." 

"  Evil  lines  have  been  hers,  but  the  Lord  has 
delivered  her,"  replied  Jeanne,  piously. 

Madam  smiled  at  the  incongruity  of  the  speech 
with  the  appearance  of  the  speaker.  "  You  do  not 
disguise  yourself,  good  sir,"  she  remarked.  "There 
wTould  be  little  use  in  your  appearing  in  the  dress  of 
a  woman  once  you  spoke.  Yet  your  face  is  smooth 
of  beard,  and  I  have  seen  women  as  tall." 

"  I  have  been  for  many  years  a  companion  of  the 
coureurs  de  bois,"  returned  Jeanne,  calmly.  "  I  am 
not  unversed  in  matters  of  the  hunt,  in  trapping 
beasts,  and  in  those  manly  accomplishments  which 
are  known  to  the  voyageurs." 

"  A  voyageur  ?  Then  sing  me  one  of  their  songs," 
said  Madam,  laughing.  And  the  good  Jeanne,  with 
a  twinkle  in  her  eye,  trolled  out  a  boatman's  ditty, 
at  the  sound  of  which  Alaine  and  Trynje  started 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGE  243 

from  their  place  by  the  window  and  came  toward 
them. 

"  Good  !"  cried  Madam,  clapping  her  hands  when 
Jeanne  had  finished.  "  It  was  a  well-answered  test, 
monsieur.  I  trust  that  you  will  pardon  me  for  put 
ting  you  to  it.  Strange  and  doubtful  as  your  story 
may  have  seemed,  I  believe  it,  and  that  you  are  in 
very  truth  what  you  seem.11 

Jeanne  burst  into  a  laugh.  "For  once,  madam, 
your  penetration  is  at  fault,  for  I  must  contradict 
you.  I,  also,  am  a  woman." 

u  Impossible  I11    Madam  drew  herself  away  a  little. 

"  Even  so,  and  my  own  story,  though  not  in  the 
same  way  romantic,  may  not  be  uninteresting  to 
you." 

"Will  you  tell  it?11 

Jeanne  began  monotonously,  but  by  degrees  her 
natural  dramatic  fire  crept  into  it,  and  at  the  end 
the  tears  were  dropping  from  Madam's  eyes.  She 
caught  Jeanne's  hand  in  hers.  "Stay  with  me,11 
she  cried  ;  "  I,  too,  have  been  bereft.  I  will  not  con 
strain  you,  but  stay  with  me  as  my  guest.11 

"  As  your  servitor,  for  a  season  ;  but  I  have  prom 
ised,  and  I  must  perform.  I  must  see  the  girl  safe 
at  home,  and  then  what  is  ordered  will  come  next. 
I  am  all  unused  to  delicate  living,  and  I  pray  you 
house  me  among  those  who  work  in  your  fields.11 

"  As  you  like ;  I  will  give  you  quarters  to  yourself, 
and  hope  you  may  be  comfortable,  but  you  are  my 
guest,  none  the  less.11 


244  BECAUSE   OF  CONSCIENCE 

She  could  be  very  gracious,  this  Madam  De  Vries, 
but  she  could  be  none  the  less  haughty,  imperious, 
and  obstinate,  as  Alaine  found  before  two  days 
were  over.  The  servants  stood  in  awe  of  her,  yet 
grumbled  over  the  insistence  with  which  an  unim 
portant  point  was  often  carried.  Uncompromising 
and  unyielding  as  she  was  when  angered  or  crossed, 
she  was  uniformly  gentle  to  Trynje,  whom  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  call  daughter.  She  was  impulsive 
and  changeable,  too,  and  impatient  of  those  who  dis 
agreed  with  her.  Just  now  it  pleased  her  to  make 
much  of  these  uninvited  visitors  who  appealed  to 
her  imagination  and  love  of  excitement. 

The  plantation,  some  miles  from  Albany,  was  one 
of  those  comfortable  Dutch  estates  which  thrift  and 
industry  had  secured  to  its  owner,  who,  dying,  left 
it  to  his  widow  to  carry  on  in  the  same  competent 
way,  and  it  was  by  no  means  a  bad  place  to  live. 

After  a  discussion  of  the  matter,  Madam  agreed 
that  both  Jeanne  and  Alaine  should  retain  the  dress 
in  which  they  had  arrived.  "  It  will  cause  less 
comment,"  she  said,  "  and  until  she  is  safe  in  her 
home  I  do  not  feel  that  the  girl  may  not  be  tracked 
by  the  Dupont." 

"Which  is  my  own  opinion,"  agreed  Jeanne. 
"  He  is  indefatigable ;  he  is  a  born  intriguer ;  he 
stands  at  nothing,  and  he  may  yet  find  a  way  to  dis 
cover  us,  once  she  assumes  her  own  dress." 

"It  is  like  a  play,"  said  Madam,  "and  it  is  vastly 
exciting.  To  protect  the  girl,  then,  I  agree,  and  if 


PIERRE,  THE   ENGAGfi  245 

any  come  prowling  around  the  place  questioning  the 
servants,  they  will  have  no  tales  to  tell." 

And  therefore  Alaine  changed  the  short  gown  and 
petticoat  for  a  linen  shirt  and  breeches.  Yet  she 
was  kept  indoors,  and,  amid  much  laughter  from 
Trynje,  would  sew  or  spin  when  no  one  else  was 
nigh  to  observe  her.  Out  of  doors  both  she  and 
Jeanne  occupied  themselves  in  such  employment  as 
was  agreeable  to  them  and  which  would  keep  them 
apart  from  the  other  workers,  and  Madam's  private 
garden  promised  to  thrive  well  in  consequence.  It 
pleased  Madam's  fancy  not  to  let  them  go,  and  day 
after  day  some  excuse  was  made  to  detain  them 
longer.  It  is  not  improbable  that  she  would  have 
enjoyed  somewhat  a  descent  upon  them  by  Francois 
Dupont,  and  that  she  was  not  without  hope  that  it 
would  take  place ;  then  she,  at  the  head  of  her 
retainers,  would  drive  him  off,  and  it  would  be  a 
pleasant  and  exciting  diversion  without  the  danger 
included  in  another  incursion,  such  as  those  by  the 
Indians. 

Trynje  attached  herself  devotedly  to  this  new 
friend,  for  she  was  not  without  her  love  of  romance 
either,  amiable  and  prosaic  as  she  appeared.  But  it 
was  romance  in  which  others,  rather  than  herself, 
were  concerned,  which  most  interested  her.  These 
affairs  required  no  puzzling  solutions,  no  sleepless 
nights,  nor  uncomfortable  situations.  So  far  as  she 
was  concerned  she  was  satisfied  that  others  should 
direct  her  way,  and  what  was  nearest  and  easiest 


246  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

would  receive  her  endorsement.  So  the  two  worked 
side  by  side,  Trynje  laughing  at  the  attempts  to 
speak  Dutch  which  Alaine  strenuously  made,  and 
the  latter  trying  to  drum  into  Trynje's  stupid  little 
head  a  few  French  phrases.  They  could  be  seen 
almost  any  afternoon  busy  in  one  corner  of  the  big 
sitting-room,  while  at  the  other  end  Madam's  head 
could  be  observed  bending  over  her  letters  and  ac 
counts. 


CHAPTER     XV 

MADAM,    MY    MOTHER 

IT  was  one  day  a  week  or  so  later  that  Alaine 
came  upon  Madam  pacing  the  floor  in  deep  thought. 
She  looked  up  as  the  girl  came  in.  "  My  son  ar 
rives  to-night/1  she  said,  abruptly,  "and  I  have  been 
thinking  will  it  be  best  that  he  meet  you  as  girl  or 
boy.  If  as  boy,  you  would  best  not  appear  at  table ; 
if  as  girl,  we  must  announce  the  cause  of  the  mas 
querade  to  him  and  to  the  rest  of  the  household.1' 

"  Oh,  madam,  permit  me  to  keep  in  the  back 
ground/1  returned  the  girl.  "I  would  much  rather 
it  should  be  so  ;  and  if  we  take  up  our  journey  again, 
it  will  be  best  that  I  do  not  alter  my  dress  till  I  am 
safe  at  home ;  you  remember  that  we  decided  so.11 

Madam  stood  considering;  then  she  smiled. 
"Taking  all  things  into  consideration,  I  think  it  will 
be  best;  and  you  need  not  neglect  Trynje,  but 
leave  her  only  when  my  son  seems  to  desire  to  be 
with  her.  I  think,'1  she  smiled  again,  "he  will  de 
sire  it  the  more  because  of  the  presence  of  a  hand 
some  lad.  Yes,  that  is  it ;  we  will  make  him  jealous. 
So,  put  on  your  most  devoted  air ;  you  are  a  head 
taller  than  Trynje,  and  will  seem  quite  a  possible 
rival." 

247 


248  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Alaine  laughed.  She  rather  enjoyed  the  humor 
of  the  situation. 

"I  do  not  know  much  about  your  son,"  she  ven 
tured  to  say.  "  Trynje  will  not  talk  of  him,  and 
when  I  try  to  bring  the  conversation  that  way  she 
only  laughs  and  changes  the  subject." 

"  He  is  very  triste  these  days,"  continued  Madam. 
"  I  do  not  know  why,  though  he  is  never  very  com 
municative,  this  son  of  mine.  He  says  little  of  his 
affairs,  and  I  shall  not  tell  him  all  of  mine.  He  and 
Trynje  have  been  playmates  from  youth,  and  she 
still  calls  him  Bo,  as  she  did  when  a  tiny  child  and 
he  tried  to  teach  her  the  English  for  boy." 

"  Must  I  take  my  meals  with  you,  madam  ?" 

"You  would  rather  not?  I  can  understand  that 
it  might  be  awkward ;  then  Maria  and  Johannes 
shall  have  your  company  if  you  do  not  mind." 

"I  do  not  mind  at  all." 

"Then  it  is  settled,  and  perhaps  we  shall  have  a 
wedding  before  June,  who  knows  ?  Trynje  has  deep 
affections  once  they  are  given,  but  she  has  pride  as 
well.  Now,  then,  let  us  see  how  well  you  can  act 
your  part  in  this  pretty  play.1' 

In  the  dusk  of  the  evening  there  was  the  sound 
of  trampling  of  hoofs  outside  by  the  porch.  Madam 
arose.  "  Come,  Trynje,"  she  called,  and  Trynje  ran 
forward,  leaving  Alaine  in  the  shadowy  corner  where 
they  had  been  sitting.  The  door  opened,  and  by  the 
waning  light  Alaine  saw  a  tall  form  embrace  Madam, 
saw  Trynje's  little  plump  hand  carried  to  a  man's 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  249 

lips,  then  as  the  waning  light  fell  upon  the  man's 
face  she  saw  the  smile  of  Lendert  Verplanck. 

"Lendert!"  she  whispered,  and  then  she  dropped 
back  again  upon  the  settle.  "  Lendert !"  She  sat 
there  staring  for  a  moment  before  she  made  her 
escape  to  her  little  room  above-stairs  which  Madam 
had  insisted  upon  her  occupying.  Her  heart  was 
beating  tumultuously,  her  head  throbbing.  She 
threw  herself  face  down  on  the  floor.  "  My  Lendert ! 
My  Lendert!"  she  whispered.  "He  has  forgotten 
me.  I  dare  not  make  myself  known.  I  must  try 
to  get  away  without  his  knowledge,  for  there  is 
Pierre  and  here  is  Trynje,  who  love  me.  Jeanne 
must  know,  and  she  will  help  me."  She  lay  there 
sobbing  convulsively  till  her  first  tumult  of  grief 
was  spent,  and  then  she  arose  and  knelt  by  the 
window,  her  elbows  on  the  sill.  The  little  latticed 
casement  was  open,  and  through  it  was  wafted  the 
mysterious  sweetness  of  May,  the  sweetness  of  new 
born  leaves,  of  blossoms  shaking  out  their  perfume 
to  the  winds.  So  perilously  sweet  the  season  to 
those  who  love,  for  the  promise  of  bliss,  of  beauty, 
the  expectant  hush  covering  things  as  yet  wrapped 
in  mystery,  the  almost  answer  to  everlasting  ques 
tions,  these  are  conveyed  to  the  heart  of  youth  on  a 
May  night.  Unutterable  thoughts  came  to  the  girl 
as  she  leaned  out  and  felt  the  breath  of  evening  on 
her  hot  face.  Her  yearning  heart  mounted  to  the 
skies  bearing  the  enduring  "Why?"  and  again  her 
eyes  overflowed. 


250  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

A  light  step  along  the  hall  was  followed  by  a  tap 
on  the  door.  "Where  are  you,  little  runaway?" 
came  from  Madam  in  a  bantering  tone.  "  This  is 
not  keeping  your  word.  My  son  has  gone  to  smoke 
his  pipe  on  the  stoop  with  our  manly  Jeanne,  who 
has  actually  joined  him.  Did  she  learn  to  smoke 
from  the  Indians  ?  Trynje  is  watching  for  you.  It 
is  all  very  good,  for  I  have  had  a  word  with  my  son, 
and  he  has  said,  '  We  will  talk  of  it  after  a  while ;  if 
it  be  so  great  a  desire  with  you,  madam,  my  mother, 
I  will  try  to  yield  to  your  wishes.  One  must  marry, 
I  suppose,  and  why  not  Trynje  as  well  as  another? 
She  is  an  amiable  little  girl.'  So,  you  see,  it  is  as 
good  as  settled.  Now  to  make  him  jealous,  and  he 
will  think  she  wears  many  more  virtues  than  the 
one  of  amiability.'1  She  had  come  in  and  stood  by 
Alaine's  side.  "You  have  had  your  supper?" 

"No,  not  yet." 

"  And  so  late.  Fie  upon  you  for  a  bashful  child ! 
Go  along  and  get  it  at  once,  and  then  come  to  us." 
And  she  swept  out,  leaving  Alaine  with  hands  ner 
vously  clinched  and  trembling  with  overwrought 
feelings. 

"  Why  do  I  not  die  ?"  she  moaned.  "  God  knows 
I  have  tried  to  do  my  duty.  I  have  tried, — I  want 
to  do  it.  O  God,  why  are  the  hearts  of  women  so 
weak  and  their  love  so  strong  ?  My  heart  will  break, 
— it  will  break  !  He  has  forgotten  me  !"  She  leaned 
her  face  against  the  casement.  Hark !  it  was  his 
voice  there  below.  He  spoke  to  Jeanne.  She  could 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  251 

hoar  distinctly  the  slow,  deliberate  tones.  Oh,  let 
her  not  lose  this  one  happiness  before  she  accepted 
the  inevitable  misery  of  flying  from  him ! 

He  spoke  slowly  in  halting  French.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  he  had  heard  something  of  Jeanne  from 
his  mother,  and  believed  her  to  be  simply  a  sort  of 
upper  gardener.  "  You  are  Rouennaise,  I  think  you 
say,1'  Alaine  heard  him  remark. 

"  From  near  Rouen,  but  I  left  there  many  years 
ago." 

"  Perhaps  you  knew  a  family  of  the  name  Ker- 
vieu." 

"  I  knew  them  well ;  they  were  among  those  who 
stood  high  in  the  parish  of  my  brother/1 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  while  Lendert 
puffed  at  his  great  pipe.  "This  family,  I  have  met 
a  member  of  it.  They  became  Protestant.11 

"  A  part  of  the  family  did  and  fled  the  country.1' 

"Yes,  but  one  has  since  returned,  I  have  been 
told.11 

"  I  had  not  heard  of  it.  M.  Theodore  Hervieu, 
I  suppose.11 

"No,  his  daughter." 

Jeanne  leaned  forward  and  peered  into  the  other's 
face.  "  I  think  you  are  mistaken,11  she  said. 

"I  know  it  to  be  true,11  Lendert  continued. 

Jeanne  laughed  and  leaned  back  again  against  the 
railing  of  the  porch.  "  Then  we  do  not  speak  of  the 
same  family.  There  are  several  of  the  name." 

There  was  silence  again.    Alaine  above  there,  with 


252  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

the  whispering  leaves  saying  a  hundred  things  to  her, 
leaned  farther  out. 

After  a  long  pause  Lendert  spoke  again,  as  with 
difficulty.  "  This  young  lady's  name  was  Alaine 
Hervieu,  the  adopted  daughter  of  one  Louis  Mercier 
and  his  wife  Michelle.  I  know  them  all.  She  saved 
my  life,  and — I  was  ill  at  their  house  there  in  New 
Rochelle.  She  disappeared.  They  mourned  her  as 
dead,  but  she  is  married,  they  afterwards  learned. 
I  have  seen  them ;  they  told  me.  They  had  just 
received  word  from  France.  She  was  there,  the 
wife  of  Francois  Dupont.  I  would  rather  she  were 
dead.  She  is  dead  to  me.  She  has  abjured  her 
faith  and  will  remain  among  her  relatives  in  France." 

"  It  is  all  a  lie,"  said  Jeanne,  quietly. 

"  It  cannot  be.     I  saw  the  letter  myself." 

There  was  a  swift  running  of  feet  along  the  hall 
and  down  the  stair.  In  the  doorway  appeared  a 
slight  figure,  and  a  voice  cried,  "  Lendert !  Lendert ! 
I  am  not  dead !  I  am  not  married !  I  am 
here !" 

Down  went  the  great  pipe  with  a  clatter  to  the 
ground.  The  sweet,  shrill,  imploring  tones  rang  out 
upon  the  May  night.  With  one  stride  Lendert 
reached  her  where  she  stood  poised  upon  the  door- 
sill.  "Alaine!"  he  cried.  U0h,  thou  good  God! 
It  is  Alaine !"  And  then  Jeanne  stepped  in  between 
them,  but  Lendert  swept  her  aside. 

"  Shame  upon  you,  girl !"  The  words  came  from 
Madam  De  Vries,  who,  shaking  with  anger,  saw  the 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  253 

two  standing  as  one  before  her.  "  Lendert,  what 
does  this  mean  ?  Girl,  go  to  your  room !" 

But  Lendert  held  her  fast.  "  It  means,  madam, 
that  this  Alaine  Hervieu  is  the  woman  to  whom  be 
fore  God  I  have  pledged  myself.  I  have  vowed  to 
marry  no  other,  and  I  will  not." 

"  An  outcast,  a  beggar,  a  creature  of  my  bounty, 
a  companion  of  coureurs  de  bois  and  of  wandering 
women  !  You  would  take  such  to  your  home,  pre 
sent  her  to  your  mother,  smirch  your  honest 
name " 

"  Stop !"  Jeanne  strode  forward,  anger  on  her 
face  and  blazing  from  her  eyes.  "  You,  who  are  a 
woman,  dare  to  say  that  to  one  who  has  been 
afflicted  so  sorely  !  You,  a  mother,  can  dare  to  cast 
your  venomous  slurs  at  an  innocent,  motherless  girl, 
who  but  yesterday  roused  your  compassion  and 
drew  tears  from  your  eyes  by  the  recital  of  her 

wrongs!  Beware,  lest  Heaven's  curse "  She 

paused  and  dropped  her  hand  raised  in  malediction. 
''Monsieur,'1  she  said,  turning  to  Lendert,  "the  girl 
is  now  my  charge,  and  has  been  under  the  protec 
tion  of  my  brother,  a  holy  man,  from  her  birth  up, 
with  the  exception  of  the  few  years  with  the  Mer- 
ciers.  I  am  ready  to  vouch  for  her  innocence  and 
goodness  as  for  an  angel's." 

Lendert  leaned  his  head  down  till  his  cheek 
touched  Alaine's  curly  head  resting  against  his  en 
circling  arm.  "I  should  never  question  it,"  he  an 
swered.  "  She  is  Alaine,  and  that  is  enough.  I  love 


254  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

her.  I  could  never  doubt  her,  having  once  known 
her.  There  is  no  need  of  your  defence  of  her,  yet 
I  thank  you  for  it." 

"  Come  to  me,  my  child,"  Jeanne  ordered,  and 
Alaine  slipped  from  Lendert's  hold  to  hers. 

"Tell  your  story,  monsieur,"  Jeanne  continued. 
"  Though  I  do  not  doubt  your  faithfulness,  I  must  be 
as  particular  in  my  knowledge  of  who  you  are  as 
Madam  would  be  of  her  son's  wife.  You  are 
Madam's  son,  yet  your  name  is  Verplanck." 

uMy  mother  has  been  twice  married,"  said  Len- 
dert.  "  I  am  her  son  by  her  first  marriage.  Some 
months  ago  I  met  Mademoiselle  Hervieu.  She  in 
terposed  herself  between  me  and  death.  She  and 
her  adopted  parents  took  me  in,  a  stranger,  and  for 
weeks  cared  for  me  as  for  one  of  their  own  flesh 
and  blood.  I  saw  and  loved  Alaine.  I  gave  her 
my  vows  and  my  promise  to  return  and  marry  her. 
We  parted.  I  had  a  mission  to  perform ;  it  is  not 
yet  done,  but  I  determined  when  it  proved  successful 
to  return  and  claim  her,  trusting  to  my  mother's 
good  sense  and  affection  not  to  oppose  my  happi 
ness.  I  went  to  New  Rochelle.  I  saw  Michelle  and 
Louis  Mercier.  They  showed  me  a  letter  they  had 
received  from  Franfois  Dupont,  he  who  stole  their 
child  away ;  it  was  written  in  Canada ;  it  assured 
them  that  Alaine  was  safe,  was  well  and  happy ; 
that  she  was  married  to  him,  and  that  they  were 
about  to  depart  for  France.  There  were  messages 
from  Alaine,  and  it  all  seemed  as  if  true." 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  255 

"  That  evil-doer,'1  muttered  Jeanne.  "  It  was  all 
a  ruse,  monsieur,  to  prevent  further  action  on  the 
part  of  her  friends.  I  do  not  know  what  he  hoped 
to  gain  by  it.  Mademoiselle  Hervieu  left  Quebec  in 
the  company  of  my  brother  six  months  ago.  She 
has  not  seen  Frangois  Dupont  since  that  time.  It  is 
quite  true  that  he  carried  mademoiselle  off  and 
would  have  married  her,  but,  fortunately,  my  brother 
was  the  instrument  in  God's  hands  to  prevent  it.  It 
is  a  long  story  ;  we  will  discuss  it  later.  At  present 
our  entire  desire  is  to  leave  here  and  reach  Man- 
hatte." 

"  Which  you  shall  do,  and  the  sooner  the  better. 
My  roof  no  longer  affords  you  shelter,"  said  Madam, 
bitterly. 

Lendert's  sleepy  eyes  half  closed.  "Mademoi 
selle  Hervieu  is  under  no  obligation  to  you,  madam, 
my  mother,  for  your  son  is  alive  through  her  defence 
and  her  protection.  The  obligation  is  upon  the 
other  side." 

"  There  is  no  obligation  where  there  is  a  graceless, 
disobedient  son  who  perjures  himself  and  defies  his 
mother." 

"  Perjures  himself?" 

"  Did  you  not,  an  hour  since,  promise  to  marry 
Tryrije  van  der  Deen?" 

"  I  said  I  would  consider  it  after  a  while,  but  there 
was  then  nothing  of  all  this.  My  troth  to  Alaine  I 
believed  severed  by  her  marriage.  Now  it  is  differ 
ent." 


256  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  You  cannot  marry  without  my  consent ;  the 
laws  of  our  colony  forbid." 

"Then  I  will  not  marry  while  Alaine  is  free." 

"AndTrynje?" 

Trynje  had  come  out  and  was  listening  wonder- 
ingly.  She  nestled  her  hand  in  Alaine's  and  spoke 
up.  "Trynje,  madam,  does  not  desire  to  marry 
Lendert  Verplanck.  She  prefers  to  let  her  parents 
select  for  her.  You  have  shown  her  how  very  un 
pleasant  a  mother  can  be,  and  Trynje  does  not  like 
discord.  Lendert  Verplanck,  I  am  Alaine's  friend ;  I 
love  her.  I  wish  her  happiness,  and  my  own  will 
not  suffer  by  reason  of  you,  be  sure  of  that." 

Madam  standing  alone  in  the  doorway  with  all 
arrayed  against  her  awoke  Trynje's  pity,  and  she 
went  over  to  her.  "Dear  Madam  De  Vries,"  she 
said,  "  it  would  be  a  very  pleasant  thing  if  you  would 
agree  with  the  rest  of  us  and  let  us  be  merry  over 
this  instead  of  angry.  It  was  but  this  morning  that 
you  spoke  very  sweetly  of  Alaine,  and  she  is  the 
same  now  as  then." 

Madam  withdrew  the  hand  Trynje  had  taken, 
"Little  fool,"  she  muttered,  "if  you  had  but  claimed 
your  own  we  could  yet  have  our  own  way." 

"  I  am  having  my  way,"  returned  Trynje,  "  only 
it  isn't  your  way,  madam." 

"She  is  not  the  fool  she  would  seem,"  remarked 
Jeanne,  in  an  aside. 

"  Good  little  Trynje  !"  cried  Lendert. 

Trynje  stood  a  moment  looking  wistfully  from  one 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  257 

to  the  other.  She  did  not  enjoy  this  disturbance, 
but  she  had  a  happy  consciousness  of  having  done 
what  made  it  easier  for  all  but  Madam. 

"  Go,  girl !"  Madam  commanded  Alaine  in  a  hard 
tone.  u  Go,  take  off  the  clothes  my  bounty  has 
provided  for  you.  Your  rags  Maria  will  return  to 
you.  I  want  never  to  see  your  face  again." 

"  Nor  your  son's  ?"  asked  Lendert. 

"  Nor  his,  unless  he  agrees  to  bring  Trynje  home 
to  me.  All  this  would  then  be  his.  Otherwise  he 
can  leave  my  roof;  his  disobedience  casts  him 
out." 

"It  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  been  cast  out," 
replied  Lendert,  with  some  bitterness.  "My  first 
opposition  to  your  wishes  brought  me  that." 

"  You  will  not  find  it  necessary  to  repeat  the  ex 
perience,"  responded  Madam.  "  These  lands  belong 
to  the  widow  of  Pieter  De  Vries,  and  not  to  the  son 
of  Kilian  Verplanck.  Come,  Trynje,  we  will  go  in. 
I  do  not  turn  you  away." 

Trynje  did  not  budge,  but  held  Alaine's  hand 
tightly  in  hers.  "I  am  sorry  not  to  oblige  you, 
madam,  but  I  can't  let  Alaine  sleep  in  the  woods 
to-night.  I  shall  take  her  to  my  mother." 

"  The  wench  has  slept  often  enough  in  the  woods," 
sneered  Madam.  "  You  do  not  need  to  spare  her ; 
she  is  not  used  to  a  delicate  life,  we  know  that." 

"The  more  that  she  should  be  spared  further 
privation,"  spoke  up  the  spunky  little  Trynje.  "If 
you  will  get  my  horse  and  your  own,  Lendert  Ver- 

17 


258  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

planck,  we  can  all  travel  together,  and  can  reach 
home  in  an  hour." 

"No,  no,  Trynje,  dear  little  Trynje,"  whispered 
Alaine.  "I  will  not  take  you  away;  it  is  not  safe 
going  at  night  through  the  woods." 

"As  safe  for  me  as  for  you,  and  perhaps  safer 
than  a  settlement.  Then,  I  wish  to  go.  I  want  my 
mother." 

Tears  came  to  Alaine's  eyes,  and  she  bent  over 
and  kissed  the  girl's  soft  cheek.  This  loyalty  of 
Trynje's  touched  her  deeply. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  little  party  was  ready 
to  start,  Alaine  and  Jeanne  mounted  on  Trynje's 
horse,  and  Trynje  behind  Lendert  upon  his  own 
steed.  They  left  a  silent  house,  from  the  windows 
of  which  not  a  light  gleamed,  but  within  whose 
walls  sat  a  disappointed,  obdurate  woman  with  rage 
and  self-pity  gnawing  at  her  heart. 

The  travellers  rode  along  quietly  enough  through 
the  woods.  The  leaves  were  yet  too  sparsely  green 
to  shut  out  the  light  of  the  sky,  and  the  bridle-path 
was  easily  followed.  Lendert's  watchful  eyes  kept 
a  sharp  lookout  right  and  left,  and  his  hand  upon 
his  gun  was  ready.  Neither  he  nor  Trynje  were 
great  talkers,  and  they  said  little.  Alaine,  on  the 
contrary,  kept  up  a  low-voiced  conversation  with 
Jeanne.  Neither  Madam's  sharp  words  nor  the 
painfulness  of  the  entire  situation  could  take  the  joy 
from  Alaine's  heart.  Above  all  else  arose  the  one 
thought :  Lendert  loved  her ;  he  had  not  forgotten 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  259 

her.  Once  or  twice  she  lifted  her  face  to  the  twink 
ling  stars  whose  beams  sifted  down  between  the 
tender  twigs  and  the  little  new  leaves,  and  she  re 
peated  softly  one  of  the  dear  old  psalms,  "The 
heavens  declare  the  glory  of  God."  It  had  been  a 
long  time  since  she  had  heard  any  one  sing  them, 
but  soon,  soon  she  would  be  at  home  and  free. 
There  was  so  much  she  desired  to  ask  Lendert,  so 
much,  for  he  had  seen  those  dear  ones  not  long 
ago,  and  she  busied  herself  with  this  or  that  surmise 
as  she  chattered  to  Jeanne,  and  at  last  she  sobered 
down  into  pensive  recollections  of  her  old  life. 
What  of  all  her  resolves?  What  of  the  promise 
she  had  made  to  herself  that  she  would  forget  Len 
dert  and  remember  Pierre?  These  had  vanished 
utterly  at  sight  of  him  to  whom  her  heart  was 
given. 

So  presently  she  spoke  very  gravely.  "  Dear 
Jeanne,  in  those  old  days  in  France  I  used  to  go  to 
Father  Bisset  with  all  my  puzzling  questions,  and  he 
always  set  me  right.  Now  here  am  I  in  a  sorry 
uncertainty.  Listen,  Jeanne,  and  tell  me  what  I 
should  do.  I  have  not  told  you  all  this,  because  I 
thought  I  ought  to  try  to  overcome  my  love  and 
think  only  of  Pierre  and  his  great  sacrifice  for  my 
sake.  Yet,  here  is  another  who  loves  me  so  well 
that  he  forsakes  all  else  for  me,  and  him  I  love.  I 
have  tried  not  to.  I  have  sought  to  let  my  thoughts 
dwell  on  Pierre.  And  then,  at  home,  Michelle  and 
Papa  Louis  would  have  me  marry  Gerard,  yet  I 


260  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

think  when  my  father  returns  they  will  see  that  it  is 
he  who  should  order  my  goings.  What  must  I  do, 
dear  Jeanne  ?  You  saw  that  my  heart  outran  my 
resolve,  and  I  have  again  confessed  my  love  for  Len- 
dert.  Am  I  not  a  deceitful  wicked  thing?  I  am 
miserable  when  I  think  of  it.'1 

"What  have  you  promised  Pierre?" 

"  I  promised  him  nothing,  for  he  would  not  allow 
it;  and  furthermore  he  told  me  that  I  must  not  be 
bound,  and  if  in  a  year  he  or  my  father  had  not 
returned,  that  I  must  be  free  to  do  what  seemed 
best.  Before  then  I  told  him  I  would  marry  him  or 
whomsoever  should  be  my  father's  choice." 

"  Then  await  the  end  of  the  year,  and  if  your 
father  returns  let  him  settle  it." 

"  But  Lendert,  my  whole  heart  goes  out  to  him, 
and  if  he  loves  me  he  offends  his  mother,  and  if  I 
love  him  I  may  offend  my  father,  yet  each  of  us 
loves  only  the  other." 

Jeanne  sighed.  "  Earthly  love  is  very  strong ;  one 
cannot  always  conquer  that  at  once ;  yet,  my  dear, 
if  you  ought  not  to  marry  Lendert  you  must  not." 

"  You  think  I  ought  not  to  marry  him  even  if  his 
mother  should  at  last  consent?" 

"  If  you  gave  your  promise  first  to  Pierre,  and  if 
your  father  orders  it,  you  should  marry  Pierre." 

Alaine's  head  drooped  lower  and  lower.  Ahead 
rode  Lendert ;  she  could  see  his  stalwart  figure  out 
lined  against  the  dimly  soft  sky.  She  felt  that  she 
could  leap  from  her  horse,  fly  to  him,  beg  him  to 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  261 

take  her  away,  away  from  all  her  confusing  and  con 
flicting  problems. 

The  piteous  sigh  she  gave  aroused  Jeanne's  com 
passion.  "  I  am  telling  you  what  is  right,  my  child, 
as  you  asked  me  to  do,  but  remember,  when  the 
year  is  at  an  end  you  will  be  free  to  do  what  your 
heart  dictates.  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  of  that." 

"Then  you  think  I  shall  not  see  my  father 
again  ?" 

"  Or  Pierre  ?     I  think  it  is  very  doubtful.1' 

"  It  is  terrible,  terrible,  that  I  should  build  any 
happiness  on  that.  I  will  not.  I  will  think  they  are 
both  to  return,  and  will  be  patient.  Will  you  tell 
Lendert  what  you  have  told  me  it  is  right  to  do  ? 
Will  you  let  him  know  that  I  must  abide  by  the  right 
at  any  cost?  I  am  so  weak-hearted  that  I  should 
yield  up  my  love  again  to  him  if  he  asked  it.  When 
I  think  of  it,  Jeanne,  I  know  that  love  is  mightier 
than  death,  for  I  wish  we  could  die  together,  he  and 
I,  this  minute.  Is  it  not  pitiful  that  love  is  so  strong 
and  will  is  so  weak  ?  I  want  to  do  right.  I  mean 
to  do  right,  while  every  fibre  of  my  being  throbs  for 
Lendert.  If  I  am  to  be  the  wife  of  another  I  must 
not  let  him  even  look  at  me,  with  the  lovelight  in 
his  eyes,  for  mine  will  surely  answer.  Twice  in  my 
life  for  a  few  moments  I  have  been  so  happy  that  I 
can  believe  what  heaven  is  like.  It  is  not  given  to 
all  of  us  to  be  so  happy,  even  for  a  few  moments, 
in  this  world,  therefore  I  must  be  satisfied  with  that 
and  believe  that  I  am  more  favored  than  many 


262  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

women."  Her  voice  shook,  and  Jeanne  knew  with 
out  seeing  it  that  her  tears  were  falling  fast. 

"  Do  I  not  know?  Can  I  not  understand?1'  Into 
Jeanne's  voice  crept  a  note  of  love  and  longing  akin 
to  Alaine's.  "  We  have  been  sorely  afflicted.  The 
waves  and  the  billows  have  gone  over  us  both.  It 
is  a  wonderful  thing  this  love  of  woman  for  man. 
None  knows  how  wonderful  or  how  great  but  those 
who  have  felt  it.  And  none  but  they  can  tell  how 
much  a  human  soul  can  suffer.  I  will  speak  to  M. 
Verplanck,  and  I  think  he  will  understand  and  will  be 
patient  also.  It  is  very  hard  for  youth  to  be  pa 
tient,"  she  continued,  half  to  herself.  "  One  must 
think  of  the  things  for  which  one  must  be  thankful, 
then  it  will  not  be  so  hard.  You  have  been  wonder 
fully  delivered  more  than  once,  and  surely  you  should 
believe  that  you  will  be  again.1' 

"I  will  believe  that,  dear  Jeanne."  Alaine's  arm 
around  Jeanne's  waist  gave  her  a  gentle  pressure, 
and  they  rode  on  silently  till  the  twinkling  lights 
ahead  of  them  showed  that  they  were  approaching 
a  small  settlement.  In  a  few  minutes  a  stockade 
was  reached,  this  enclosed  the  fort  and  blockhouse 
where  dwelt  Joachim  van  der  Deen  and  his  tenant 
farmers.  To  the  query,  "Who  goes  there?" 
Trynje  answered,  "  I,  Trynje  van  der  Deen,  with 
friends."  And  an  immediate  admittance  was  vouch 
safed. 

Trynje,  helped  from  her  horse  by  Lendert,  went  at 
once  toward  the  door  which  was  flung  wide  open  in 


MADAM,  MY   MOTHER  263 

answer  to  her  summons.  "  Whom  have  we  here?" 
asked  a  stout,  red-faced  Dutchman.  "What  is  my 
daughter  doing  travelling  about  this  time  of  night, 
and  who  are  these  in  her  company  ?" 

"  Lendert  Verplanck,  whom  you  know,  Mademoi 
selle  Hervieu,  whom  you  do  not  know,  and  Jeanne 
Crepin." 

"They  are  French?"  Joachim  van  der  Deen 
looked  suspicious,  and  pulled  the  door  together  a 
little. 

"We  are  Huguenots  and  refugees,  good  sir,"  in 
terposed  Alaine,  "and  as  your  generous  Holland 
has  sheltered  so  many  of  our  faith,  we  hope  we  do 
not  ask  in  vain  for  shelter  here.  I  have  travelled  in 
this  dress  for  some  months  past  that  I  might  the 
more  readily  escape  detection  of  my  enemies." 

Joachim  van  der  Deen  smiled,  and,  taking  Alaine's 
hand,  he  led  her  to  an  inner  room  where  sat  his 
buxom  wife.  "  We  have  visitors,  Johanna,"  he  said. 
"  Trynje  returns  with  them.  Let  her  tell  her  tale 
while  I  see  to  this  gentleman.  It  is  past  bedtime 
and  we  will  retire  at  once,  my  friends,  unless  you 
have  good  reason  to  remain  without  a  good  night's 
rest." 

Trynje  poured  forth  her  story  into  her  mother's 
ears.  The  goede  vrow  listened  attentively,  and  at 
the  close  remarked,  triumphantly,  "  I  always  said 
you  would  find  Madam  De  Vries  a  hard  mother,  and 
you  are  well  awake  to  it  now.  We  shall  have  no 
more  objections  to  Adriaen  Vrooman  hereafter." 


264  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Trynje  blushed  and  snuggled  up  to  her  mother's 
side.  It  was  very  clear  that  she  agreed  with  her, 
and  that  when  Adriaen  returned  from  his  journey 
into  the  distant  forests  he  would  receive  a  smiling 
reception  from  Trynje. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

ONE    NIGHT    IN    MAY 

ALAINE  found  herself  comfortably  lodged,  with 
Trynje's  little  negro  maid  in  attendance  on  the  two 
girls.  Before  long  they  were  nestled  in  an  immense 
feather-bed  which  billowed  up  around  them  and 
almost  hid  them  from  sight.  Alaine,  however,  did 
not  sleep.  She  listened  to  the  soft  breathing  of 
Trynje,  who  was  not  many  minutes  in  dropping  off 
into  slumber ;  she  listened  to  the  gentle  whisper  of 
the  new  leaves  and  the  trickle  of  a  little  stream  not 
far  away.  Into  her  feeling  of  quiet  resignation  every 
now  and  then  would  burst  the  recollection  of  the 
wild  joy  she  had  experienced  at  seeing  her  lover, 
now  lying  in  a  room  so  near  her.  Perhaps  he  did 
not  sleep.  Perhaps  Jeanne  had  found  an  oppor 
tunity  of  speaking  to  him  and  was  even  now  telling 
him  that  though  she  loved  him  she  must  leave  him. 

At  last,  after  tossing  restlessly  on  the  big  feather, 
bed  for  an  hour,  she  softly  arose  and  went  to  the 
window  to  look  out  upon  the  beautiful  quiet  night. 
The  moon,  now  on  the  wane,  had  not  set,  but  hung 
low  in  the  sky,  a  luminous  crescent  of  misty  silver. 
The  garrison  of  the  little  fort,  like  herself,  were 
watching,  and  the  thought  of  this  took  away  her 

265 


266  BECAUSE    OF   CONSCIENCE 

feeling  of  loneliness.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that 
she  had  been  received  under  the  roof  of  a  stranger, 
she  reflected.  Many  unlooked-for  things  had  be 
fallen  her,  and  any  day  might  bring  a  new  danger. 
She  was  so  young  and  so  weary.  Was  there  safety 
anywhere  under  that  sky's  broad  canopy?  Was 
there  rest  anywhere  under  those  twinkling  stars  ? 

Hark  !  She  started  to  her  feet.  Suddenly  upon 
the  midnight  air  came  the  horrible  war-cry  of  the 
Indians.  It  seemed  to  fill  the  air  with  a  wild 
prophecy  of  death  and  torture  and  captivity.  In  an 
instant  every  one  in  the  fort  was  awake.  There 
were  sounds  of  stern  orders  given,  of  tramping  feet, 
of  the  click  of  triggers,  of  the  rasp  of  a  sword 
dropped  into  its  scabbard.  Hastily  throwing  on 
their  clothes,  the  women  and  children,  shaking  with 
apprehension,  weeping  with  terror,  flocked  together 
in  the  blockhouse,  Alaine  with  the  rest. 

"We  are  none  too  well  garrisoned,"  said  a  man 
as  he  passed  her.  "  Here,  boy,  can  you  shoot  ?" 

Alaine  turned.  "  Try  me,"  she  replied,  laconi 
cally. 

"  All  right,  then  ;  come  on." 

For  an  instant  Alaine's  fears  gave  place  to  an  ex 
ultant  feeling.  If  she  must  die  it  would  be  by  the 
side  of  Lendert.  She  heard  a  shot  ring  out,  and  the 
cries  of  the  women  and  children  grew  fainter  as  she 
followed  the  covered  way  which  led  to  the  fort  from 
the  blockhouse. 

Watchful  men  were  stationed  at  the  loopholes,  a 


ONE   NIGHT   IN   MAY  267 

stern  and  determined  look  upon  each  face.  Alaine 
looked  around  her.  Where  was  Lendert  ? 

"  Go,  my  daughter,"  whispered  some  one  at  her 
side.  "  Your  place  is  not  here." 

"  I  was  ordered  to  remain,"  Alaine  answered, 
"  and  I  shall  stay.  Am  I  so  poor  a  shot  that  I  must 
be  denied  the  right  to  protect  myself?  Is  not  this 
as  much  my  place  as  yours,  Jeanne  Crepin?" 

Jeanne  smiled  grimly.  "  Very  well,  then  we  will 
both  remain.  We  may  be  privileged  to  die  fighting. 
Come,  we  are  needed,  every  man  of  us."  She 
smiled  again. 

The  savages  now  were  rushing  violently  at  the 
palisades  to  be  met  by  a  deadly  fire  from  those 
within.  Each  time  the  besiegers  fell  back  to  devise 
a  new  method  of  attack.  Once  came  a  glare  of 
torches  flaring  up  into  the  night  and  hurled  like  fiery 
rockets  at  the  palisades,  but  one  after  another  fell 
harmlessly  to  the  ground,  feebly  flickered  a  moment 
and  then  went  out,  as  the  spark  of  life  likewise  fled 
from  their  bearers  stretched  on  the  ground  by  the 
unerring  shots  from  the  little  fort. 

Alaine  had  discovered  Lendert  and  had  crept  to 
his  side.  He  did  not  see  her ;  he  was  mechanically 
loading  and  reloading  his  musket.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  girl  Joachim  stationed  himself  to  see  her 
do  as  good  service  as  any.  At  last  the  foe  retreated 
for  a  brief  rest,  and  Lendert  withdrew  his  gaze  from 
the  loophole  to  see  Alaine  standing  by  him.  "  Here  ? 
Why  are  you  not  safe  in  the  blockhouse,  Alaine  ?" 


268  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"I  am  of  more  use  here,"  she  replied,  "and  I 
would  rather  be  with  Jeanne  and — you."  She 
whispered  the  last  word.  "  I  thought,  perhaps  God 
would  let  us  die  tog-ether,  Lendert.  That  would  be  a 
happier  fate  than  if  I  were  taken  into  captivity.  See, 
the  east  begins  to  warm  into  a  rosy  color ;  it  will  soon 
be  day.  Will  they  leave  us  then,  do  you  think  ?" 

He  folded  her  hand  in  his  own.  "  Alaine,  so 
brave  thou  art.  No,  they  will  not,  I  think.  They 
are  not  all  Indians." 

The  gray  light  was  beginning  to  steal  over  the 
earth,  and  they  could  dimly  distinguish  the  faces 
of  their  enemies.  In  the  party  were  included  a 
number  of  coureurs  de  bois  and  a  few  adventurous 
young  Frenchmen.  Alaine  looking  out  upon  them 
as  they  held  their  parley,  grasped  Jeanne's  arm  with 
a  quick  exclamation.  "  He  is  there !  Ah,  me ! 
Again,  again  !  Jeanne,  Lendert,  do  you  see  him  ?  It 
is  Fran£ois  Dupont!" 

"Ah-h!"  came  a  savage  growl  from  Lendert,  as 
he  patted  his  musket  softly.  "So,  then,  I  have 
double  need  to  fight." 

"  It  will  be  my  dead  body  alone  that  he  possesses," 
said  Alaine,  resolutely. 

"  And  it  will  be  over  my  dead  body  that  he  treads 
to  reach  yours,"  returned  Lendert. 

And  now  Joachim  van  der  Been  strode  up.  "  We 
have  very  little  water,"  he  said.  "  The  attack  was  a 
surprise  and  the  supply  was  short.  It  has  given  out 
before  we  knew  it." 


ONE   NIGHT   IN    MAY  269 

Some  one  presently  touched  Alaine  on  the  shoul 
der.  It  was  Jeanne.  She  drew  her  aside.  "  I 
shall  make  the  effort  to  get  water.  Yonder  I  see 
Ricard  Le  Nez.  If  I  can  escape  unhurt  at  first,  I 
can  make  myself  known  to  him  and  the  others. 
They  will  not  hurt  me,  once  they  see  I  am 
French.1' 

"  Jeanne,  Jeanne !"  Alaine  caught  her  firm,  hard 
hand,  "you  must  not  go.11 

"  I  shall  go." 

Alaine  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  at  her,  then  she 
rushed  to  the  blockhouse  and  found  Trynje.  "  Give 
me  one  of  your  petticoats  !"  she  exclaimed.  Trynje 
looked  at  her  in  surprise,  but  obediently  slipped  off 
her  upper  skirt,  which  Alaine  hastily  put  on  and  ran 
back.  "  If  I  see  that  she  is  taken  I  shall  go  forth 
myself,11  she  said.  "  Franyois  will  not  let  them 

torture  me,  and  so "     She  went  to  the  nearest 

loophole  and  looked  out.  Jeanne  had  just  crept 
from  the  enclosure  and  was  stealthily  moving  to  ward 
the  spring.  If  she  could  go  and  return  in  this  gray 
of  morning  all  would  be  well.  Alaine  watched  her 
breathlessly.  So  far  she  was  safe. 

But  presently  beyond  there,  coming  down  the 
road  from  the  woods  on  the  other  side,  she  saw  a 
figure  on  horseback  followed  by  several  men  on  foot. 
She  watched  eagerly,  and  presently  with  a  smothered 
cry  she  turned  to  the  man  standing  by  her  side. 
"  Lendert,  Lendert,  it  is  your  mother,  and  she  does 
not  know  I11 


270  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

A  groan  escaped  Lendert's  lips  as  he  looked  out 
upon  the  approaching  rider. 

"  See,  see,"  Alaine  whispered,  hoarsely ,  "  she 
comes  perhaps  to  ask  your  forgiveness ;  she  comes 
to  seek  you.  Lendert,  Lendert,  I  must  save  her. 
No,  no,  hold  me  not ;  I  tell  you  it  is  I  who  must  go. 
Do  you  not  see  that  one  of  those  out  there  is  Fran- 
9013  Dupont  ?  Another  is  Ricard.  I  shall  not  fall 
into  the  hands  of  enemies,  for  they  will  recognize 
that  I  am  French  and  will  think  me  here  a  prisoner. 
I  must  go.  Lendert,  if  you  love  me,  let  me  go !" 

"  I  cannot.  I  will  not  see  you  killed  before  my 
very  eyes.  They  will  fire  before  they  understand." 

"  But  thy  mother,  thy  mother !" 

"Whom  I  must  try  to  save." 

"  No,  no ;  do  you  not  see  for  you  is  the  danger, 
for  me  not  so  much  ?" 

"  I  see  only  that  I  will  go,  and  that  I  cannot  let 
you  run  the  risk  for  my  mother,  who  ill  used 
thee." 

"No  matter,  no  matter.  She  has  come  to  seek 
us.  It  is  too  horrible  to  see  them  coming  nearer, 
nearer.  Do  you  not  see  that  for  me  is  only  possible 
danger,  and  that  for  you  it  is  sure  death  ?  If  you 
go,  I  will  surely  follow." 

"  Then  we  go  together." 

She  would  have  pushed  him  from  her  as  she  tried 
to  escape  from  the  place,  but  he  held  her  hand 
firmly.  "  We  die  together,"  he  groaned.  Still  hand 
in  hand  they  crept  from  the  fort.  "  Quick,  run  to 


ONE   NIGHT   IN   MAY  271 

your  mother,  while  I  distract  their  attention  ;  it  is  the 
only  safe  way  for  either  of  us,"  Alaine  whispered. 

But  at  this  moment  Jeanne,  on  her  way  from  the 
spring,  spied  the  figure  approaching.  With  head 
bent  low,  she  dropped  her  bucket  and  ran  swiftly 
toward  the  path  at  the  end  of  which  awaited  such 
danger  for  the  unconscious  rider. 

Lendert,  taken  off  his  guard  for  a  second,  gazed 
after  her  half  dazed,  and  in  this  moment  Alaine 
sprang  from  him  and  ran,  but  in  an  opposite  direc 
tion  from  that  which  Jeanne  was  taking.  She 
reached  a  little  mound  and  stood  there  in  plain  view 
of  the  enemy.  "  I  am  here,  I,  Alaine  Hervieu  !"  she 
called  out  in  her  native  French.  "  I  am  here,  Fran- 
£ois  Dupont !"  At  the  first  instant  of  her  appear 
ance  a  dozen  bullets  whizzed  through  the  air,  but 
none  touched  her,  then  from  the  group  parleying 
there  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  rushed  two  figures. 

Not  daring  to  turn  her  gaze  from  them  lest  their 
attention  be  drawn  to  Madam  De  Vries,  Alaine  stood 
with  face  to  foe.  "  She  is  of  us  !  She  is  French !" 
passed  from  one  to  another.  "  She  is  perhaps  an 
escaped  prisoner,"  and  they  awaited  results. 

Meanwhile,  Lendert,  in  an  agony  of  mind  over  the 
safety  of  his  mother  and  of  Alaine,  stood,  gun  in 
hand,  ready  to  defend  either  or  both.  Madam  De 
Vries  had  reined  in  her  horse  at  Jeanne's  approach, 
had  gathered  her  little  body-guard  around  her,  and 
as  yet  was  not  seen  by  the  attacking  party. 

Alaine  waited  quietly  till  the  two  men  came  up. 


272  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"You  have  been  prisoner  here?"  cried  Ricard. 
"  How  happens  this  ?  She  is  of  us  !"  he  shouted. 
"  Not  a  hair  of  her  head  must  be  touched.  It  is  Alaine 
in  petticoats.  You  remember,  Henri,  you,  Robert, 
M.  Bisset  and  his  companion  ?  Well,  then,  here  is 
one  of  them,"  he  called  to  his  comrades. 

At  this  instant  Fran£ois  caught  sight  of  Lendert 
standing  at  the  entrance  of  the  path  to  the  woods. 
He  gnashed  his  teeth  and  shouted.  "  Again,  villain  ! 
At  last  on  equal  grounds,  face  to  face  and  foe  to  foe. 
Take  him,  you  there,  Ricard  !" 

Like  a  flash  Alaine  ran  from  her  little  hillock  and 
stood  before  her  lover,  who  laid  about  him  valiantly 
while  the  girl  cried,  "Again,  monsieur,  I  am  a 
shield!"  But  this  time  the  supple  body  was  no  de 
fence,  for  a  dozen  hands  tore  him  from  her,  and  he 
was  marched  off  in  triumph.  Then  shot  after  shot 
came  ringing  from  the  fort  as  well  as  from  the  little 
company  hidden  in  the  woods.  The  air  seemed  full 
of  flying  bullets.  Fra^ois  was  struck  down  at 
Alaine's  feet,  his  hold  upon  her  gone,  so  that  she  was 
free  to  run  to  Ricard,  crying,  "  Save  him,  save  him, 
your  prisoner  there !  I  beg,  I  entreat,  Ricard, 
Henri,  you  who  know  me,  I  fall  upon  my  knees  to 
implore  you  to  spare  him  and  take  me  instead ! 
Where  is  Jeanne  ?  Where  is  Jeanne  ?" 

Her  friend  was  not  far  off.  "  I  will  do  what  I  can," 
she  whispered,  as  she  dragged  the  distracted  girl  with 
her  to  a  place  of  retreat  behind  a  huge  tree.  "  Do 
you  not  see  that  you  must  save  yourself?  I  will  do 


ONE   NIGHT   IN   MAY  273 

what  I  can,  I  promise  you.  For  yourself,  if  you 
would  escape,  pretend  to  have  fallen ;  assume  death, 
now,  at  once."  Alaine  staggered  and  fell.  Jeanne 
bent  over  her  and  wrung  her  hands.  "  Remain 
here,"  she  whispered.  "  Lie  perfectly  still  and  you 
shall  not  be  harmed." 

Lying  flat  on  the  ground  behind  the  big  tree,  the 
bullets  flying  around  her,  Alaine,  faint  with  suspense, 
waited,  putting  her  trust  in  Jeanne,  who,  she  be 
lieved,  would  find  a  way  to  set  Lendert  at  liberty 
and  would  then  return  to  her. 

The  moments  passed,  and  at  last  the  sound  of 
firing  ceased.  The  Indians,  believing  that  those  in 
the  fort  had  received  re-enforcements  on  account  of 
the  furious  firing  from  the  party  in  the  woods,  and 
finding  their  number  was  fast  decreasing,  began  a 
retreat.  They  were  followed  so  closely  by  a  sortie 
from  the  fort  that  with  yells  and  howls  they  took 
themselves  off,  leaving  their  leader  for  dead  and 
taking  with  them  their  one  unhappy  prisoner. 

At  last  Alaine  ventured  to  raise  her  head.  The 
glory  of  the  May  morning  showed  the  woods  gold- 
green  ;  the  rill,  which  formed  the  outlet  of  the  spring, 
went  tinkling  on  its  way  as  merrily  as  if  its  waters, 
were  unstained  by  the  life-blood  of  those  who  lay 
dead  at  its  banks.  Overhead  the  birds,  startled  into 
stillness  by  the  din  of  battle,  now  began  a  timid 
warbling.  Under  Alaine's  hand  frail  anemones 
peeped,  and  around  her  the  springing  grasses  grew\ 
So  had  it  been  spring  after  spring.  Nature,  impas- 

18 


274  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

sive  and  lovely,  smiles  upon  the  agony  of  earth's 
children  and  will  not  tell  them  the  secret  of  her 
peace.  Alaine  sat  up  and  pushed  back  the  hair  from 
her  eyes.  Beyond  her  lay  the  bodies  of  the  fallen 
foe,  among  them  Frangois  Dupont.  She  turned  her 
head  and  shuddered.  "  Lendert,"  she  said,  piteously, 
"  Lendert,  where  are  you  ?  Jeanne,  you  said  you 
would  come." 

She  looked  around  and  listened.  There  was  no 
answer  to  her  call.  Then  she  wailed,  "  He  is  gone, 
gone,  and  I  am  here !"  She  stood  up  and  stretched 
her  hands  toward  the  sky.  "  Thou  God,  whom  I 
implored  to  let  us  die  together,  I  am  here  and  he  is 
not.  Thou  hast  forsaken  me !" 

A  kind  hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder.  "  My 
child,"  said  Joachim  van  der  Deen,  "why  are  you 
here  alone?  God  has  not  forsaken  you." 

Alaine  dropped  her  head  on  the  good  man's  arm. 
"I  am  desolate,  desolate,"  she  moaned.  "If  we 
had  but  died  together ;  but  now,  this  moment,  he  may 
be  enduring  tortures  such  as  I  never  dreamed  of. 
Ah-h !"  she  shrieked  in  her  despair  and  fell  to  the 
ground,  hiding  her  face,  as  if  she  would  shut  out  the 
frightful  possibilities  that  her  misery  suggested  to  her. 

Joachim  knelt  beside  her.  "  God  does  not  despise 
the  affliction  of  the  afflicted,  my  child,"  he  said, 
gently.  "Trust  thou  in  him,  and  thou  shalt  yet 
praise  him." 

But  now  that  it  seemed  certain  the  enemy  had 
departed,  from  the  fort  came  trooping  the  garrison, 


ONE   NIGHT   IN   MAY  275 

and  then  followed  the  company  of  women,  little 
Trynje  running  ahead.  "  Alaine,  Alaine  !"  she  called ; 
"  are  you  hurt,  Alaine,  Alaine  ?" 

She  saw  her  father  approaching  carrying  in  his 
arms  the  drooping  figure,  and  she  made  haste  to  reach 
him.  "She  is  not  dead,  not  dead?" 

"  No,  but  happily  unconscious,  poor  child  !"  And 
in  Joachim  van  der  Deen's  strong  arms  Alaine 
was  borne  indoors,  Trynje  following,  solicitous  and 
helpful. 

Meantime,  from  out  of  the  woods  had  issued  the 
little  company,  whose  coming  had  served  the  garri 
son  well  and  Lendert  so  badly,  Madam  De  Vries 
riding  ahead.  She  was  followed  by  a  dozen  of  her 
retainers,  who  in  the  shelter  of  the  wood  from  be 
hind  trees  had  done  good  execution.  "Though," 
said  Joachim  van  der  Been,  bluntly,  "  they  would  all 
be  roasting  now  but  for  the  timely  warning  of  that 
good  Jeanne,  whose  bravery  would  have  it  seem 
that  we  have  been  entertaining  an  angel  unawares. 
Where  is  she,  by  the  way?"  he  asked  of  Trynje,  who 
was  bending  over  Alaine's  unconscious  form.  But 
this  no  one  could  tell.  Jeanne  had  vanished  as 
completely  as  the  enemy.  At  this  report  Joachim 
looked  grave ;  this  might  be  the  performance  of  a 
spy,  but  since  there  was  no  help  for  it,  there  was 
nothing  to  be  done.  "  Where  is  Madam  De  Vries  ?" 
he  asked  his  daughter. 

"  Gone  to  find  my  mother.  Heaven  knows  how 
she  must  feel  with  her  only  son  a  captive." 


276  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Her  father  shook  his  head.  "  She  has  herself  to 
thank  for  it.  He  and  the  girl  ran  to  her  rescue, 
though  that  big  Jeanne  could  have  managed  it  alone. 
I  must  leave  this  lass  to  your  tender  mercies,  for 
there  are  others  in  need  of  me.  She  is  a  brave 
creature.  I  shall  not  soon  forget  how  I  felt  to  see 
her  standing  there  facing  that  horde.1' 

After  Alaine  had  been  carried  in  and  left  to  the 
ministrations  of  the  women,  Joachim  returned  to  find 
his  wife  among  the  wounded  on  the  ground.  She 
was  bending  over  a  figure  lying  motionless  upon  the 
tender  young  grass.  "He  lives,  Joachim,"  she  said, 
looking  up,  "  but  I  think  it  is  a  desperate  case.  God 
have  mercy  on  him." 

"Who  is  it?"  her  husband  asked,  gazing  at  the 
waxen  face. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  judge  he  must  have  been 
the  leader  of  that  company  of  Frenchmen  by  his 
dress." 

"And  our  prisoner,"  returned  Joachim,  grimly. 
"  We  will  take  him  in  with  the  rest  and  see  what 
can  be  done  for  him.  Here,  boys,  gently ;  he  is 
pretty  badly  hurt,  we  shall  hardly  be  able  to  save 
him,  but  we  will  do  our  duty  as  Christians."  He 
watched  them  bear  the  man  away.  "  Madam  De 
Vries  expressed  a  wish  to  see  you,  Johanna,  but  you 
can  offer  her  little  consolation,  I  fear." 

Johanna  van  der  Been  stood  looking  after  the  men 
who  bore  Fran§ois  Dupont  to  the  fort.  She  was  a 
very  religious  woman,  and  one  who  never  failed  to 


ONE   NIGHT   IN   MAY  277 

press  home  her  pious  truths.  She  and  Madam  De 
Vries  had  never  been  the  best  of  friends,  for  the 
former's  lack  of  seriousness  was  not  approved  by 
the  good  Johanna.  Moreover,  she  had  heard  re 
peated  a  remark  of  Madam  De  Vries,  a  remark 
which  ridiculed  her  neighbor's  pious  attitude.  This 
was  quite  enough  to  determine  Madam  van  der 
Deen  not  to  encourage  Madam  De  Vries  in  her  over 
tures  in  a  matter  of  marriage  for  her  son.  "  Daugh 
ter  of  mine  shall  not  marry  a  son  of  Arianie  De 
Vries,"  she  had  told  her  husband. 

"  Lendert  is  a  good  young  man,"  Joachim  had  an 
swered  between  puffs  of  his  pipe. 

"  There  are  others  quite  as  good  whose  mothers 
are  better,"  Johanna  had  made  reply,  and  Joachim 
had  agreed.  Nevertheless,  they  had  allowed  Trynje 
to  visit  Madam  De  Vries,  wisely  believing  that  in 
time  she  would  see  for  herself  that  Madam  could  be 
very  disagreeable  and  that  her  daughter-in-law  might 
expect  to  have  a  stormy  time.  Thinking  of  all  this 
and  of  how  it  had  come  according  to  their  expecta 
tions,  Madam  van  der  Deen  shook  her  head.  "  I 
will  go  to  her.  Poor  soul,  I  fear  I  cannot  persuade 
her  that  she  should  kiss  the  rod.  It  is  hard  for  one 
who  has  desired  her  own  way  to  find  that  our  ways 
are  not  the  Lord's  ways  and  that  we  are  but  as  the 
grass  of  the  field,  which  to-day  is  and  to-morrow 
shall  be  cast  into  the  oven.  Look  to  that  poor 
creature  they  have  carried  in,  and  I  will  come  to  him 
later."  And  she  moved  toward  the  fort,  passing 


278  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

on  to  enter  the  blockhouse,  where  Madam  De  Vries 
sat,  cold  and  tearless. 

"My  son  is  captive,"  were  the  words  that  greeted 
Johanna  van  der  Been,  "and  I  have  that  girl  to 
thank  for  it.  But  for  her  he  would  have  been  safe 
at  home.  Therefore  I  owe  your  daughter  small 
thanks  for  bringing  him  here.  That  is  all  I  wish  to 
say.1'  She  dismissed  Madam  van  der  Deen  with  a 
wave  of  her  hand,  and  she,  without  a  word,  went 
back  to  the  fort  where  Francois  Dupont  lay  motionless, 
save  but  for  a  barely  perceptible  flutter  of  his  breast. 

Madam  van  der  Deen  stood  looking  at  him.  Here 
was  an  end  to  human  hopes,  ambitions,  and  all 
revenge.  Even  resentment  must,  fade  into  pity  be 
fore  this  awful  shadow  which  seemed  to  be  hovering 
over  the  helpless  man.  She  sent  for  a  stoup  of 
wine.  "  It  will  be  of  little  use,  yet  one  must  try  to 
give  him  time  for  repentance,"  she  murmured.  She 
went  away  for  bandages  and  returned  to  see  Madam 
De  Vries  bending  over  the  pallet.  There  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  "  Some  one's  son,"  she  whispered,  as 
if  to  herself;  "  young  and  handsome,  yet  he  has  the 

privilege  of  death  in  this  way,  while  my  boy " 

she  shuddered  and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"  Give  me  the  wine,"  she  said  presently.  "  I  will 
nurse  this  man."  She  did  not  seem  to  notice  that 
it  was  Madam  van  der  Deen  to  whom  she  spoke. 
She  moistened  the  pale  lips  and  stanched  the 
wounds,  and  at  last  the  dark  eyes  opened  to  look 
upon  the  pitying  face  of  a  woman. 


ONE   NIGHT   IN    MAY  279 

"This  is  well,"  whispered  Francois.  "I  am  glad 
you  have  come,  mother.  I  think  I  am  dying,  and  I 
wanted  to  die  at  home  in  France.  I  am  glad  you 
are  here." 

44  Yes,  I  know,"  returned  Madam  De  Vries,  sooth 
ingly. 

"I  cannot  remember  all,"  he  went  on,  in  a  weak 
whisper,  "  but  they  fled  from  the  British  that  time  in 
Quebec.  Father  Bisset  took  Alaine  and  fled.  They 
must  have  been  taken  prisoners  somehow.  I  stayed 
there  to  fight  for  France,  for  France.  You  would  not 
have  had  me  do  otherwise,  mother."  He  closed  his 
eyes,  but  after  a  time  opened  them  again.  "Where 
is  the  Dutch  pig?"  he  asked.  "It  was  to  save  him 
she  threw  herself  between.  Once  more  she  made  a 
shield  of  her  sweet  body." 

"Sh !"  warned  Madam  van  der  Been,  glancing  at 
Madam  De  Vries,  but  Frangois  wandered  on. 

"  Is  she  dead  ?  I  did  not  love  her,  poor  little 
Alaine,  but  listen,  this  is  my  confession.  I  wish  to 
confess.  I  am  dying,  you  know,  and  you  are  my 
mother."  He  was  quiet  again. 

After  a  moment  he  began  anew.  "  It  was  the 
Dutchman  she  loved,  I  know  that  now.  I  did  not 
think  so  at  first ;  but,  though  I  did  not  love  her,  I 
hated  him." 

"  Madam,"  said  Johanna,  in  a  low  voice,  "  this  is 
something  it  were  better  you  did  not  hear.  Will  you 
go  away?"  The  pity  lingered  in  Madam's  eyes;  as 
yet  she  did  not  understand,  and  she  remained. 


280  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  The  Dutch  pig,"  repeated  Frangois,  "  that  Ver- 
planck.  You  are  safe  now,  Monsieur  Le  Boeuf." 

Madam  De  Vries  recoiled,  all  the  softness  in  her 
face  giving  place  to  horror.  "  Beast !"  she  cried. 
"  Beast !  And  I  have  pitied  you." 

"  He  may  be  dying,  madam,"  said  Madam  van 
der  Deen,  quietly.  "Will  you  leave  us?" 

Madam  De  Vries  opened  her  lips  as  if  to  speak, 
but  without  another  word  she  walked  away. 

Francois  kept  up  his  whispering  talk.  "Poor 
little  Alaine.  I  liked  the  girl.  I  would  have  been 
kind  to  her.  You  who  know  me,  mother,  you  be 
lieve  that.  Say  that  you  believe  that." 

"  Yes."  Madam  van  der  Deen  saw  that  he  waited 
for  a  reply. 

Frangois  closed  his  eyes ;  he  did  not  seem  to 
hear;  his  voice  was  very  weak.  "I  stayed  there  in 
Quebec  for  France,  for  France.  I  have  lied  for  her, 
I  have  suffered  for  her,  and  now  I  die  for  her.  For 
France."  His  voice  died  away  and  he  could  say  no 
more.  He  lay  very  still,  and  Madam  van  der  Deen 
by  his  side  watched  him  all  day.  Once  or  twice 
Trynje  came  to  bring  word  of  Alaine,  who  tossed  in 
fever  and  babbled  incessantly. 

Night  came,  and  still  Frangois  lived.  "  It  would 
almost  seem  as  if  he  might  recover,"  Madam  van 
der  Deen  said  to  her  husband  as  they  examined 
him. 

"  He  may  rally  a  little,  but  I  think  he  will  never 
rise  from  his  bed,"  was  the  reply.  "We  will  do  all 


ONE   NIGHT   IN   MAY  281 

we  can  for  him,  enemy  though  he  is.  He  may  not 
be  so  bad  a  man,  and  he  is  suffering.1' 

"And  he  has  made  others  suffer,"  returned  his 
wife. 

"  That  is  true.  Blindness  and  egotism  will  always 
do  that.11 

Madam  van  der  Deen  said  nothing.  Her  narrow 
religious  view  made  her  behold  only  a  pit  of  fire  for 
such  as  Frangois. 

Yet  the  dawn  of  another  day  saw  him  still  alive, 
and  so  it  continued  day  after  day,  a  little  better,  a 
little  worse,  while  above  Alaine,  exhausted  by  fever, 
was  watched  over  by  faithful  little  Trynje  and  her 
mother. 

Madam  De  Vries  did  not  tarry  long,  but  took  her 
aching  heart  back  to  her  home.  "  I  am  a  lonely, 
childless  old  woman,11  she  told  Trynje,  "and  I  care 
not  how  soon  I  leave  this  wretched  world.  It  is 
woe  and  misery  on  every  side.1'  And  when  she 
disappeared  into  the  forest  with  her  little  retinue, 
Trynje  watched  her  with  eyes  full  of  tears.  She 
still  gave  her  some  love  and  much  pity. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

FORGIVENESS 

AT  last  there  came  a  day  when  Alaine,  though 
pitifully  weak  and  pale,  was  able  to  creep  out  into 
the  open  air,  supported  by  the  strong  arm  of  Trynje's 
father,  solicitously  followed  by  Madam  van  der  Deen 
and  Trynje,  and  stared  at  by  a  group  of  tow-headed 
little  children  of  various  ages. 

"I  want  to  go  home,  Mynheer,"  Alaine  whispered 
to  the  good  man,  who  so  carefully  placed  her  in  the 
big  chair  which  had  been  set  for  her  under  a  spread 
ing  tree. 

He  nodded.     "  You  shall  go.1' 

Trynje,  busying  herself  in  tucking  a  robe  around 
her  patient's  feet,  did  not  hear.  "There,"  she  ex 
claimed,  "you  are  well  placed."  She  stood  off  and 
looked  at  her  charge  with  a  satisfied  air.  "  It  is  good 
to  be  out  again,  is  it  not  ?  Are  you  tired  ?  When 
you  are  rested  I  will  tell  you  something  about  myself. 
I  have  been  keeping  it  till  now  to  tell  you."  She 
sat  down  on  the  ground  by  Alaine's  side,  her  round, 
smiling  face  rosier  than  ever.  "You  will  get  well," 
she  went  on,  "  for  after  a  while  my  wedding  will  be." 

"What?"     Alaine  smiled  to  see  the  blushes. 

Trynje  nodded.  "Yes,  all  arranged  it  is.  Last 
night  he  was  here." 

282 


FORGIVENESS  283 

Alaine  laid  her  hand,  now  so  frail-looking,  on 
Trynje's  plump  one.  "  He  was  ?  And  who  is 
he  ?" 

"  Adriaen  Vrooman.  He  has  returned  from  a  long 
journey  into  the  woods  with  his  man  Isaac,  and 
they  brought  many  pelts.  He  is  now  ready  to 
marry.  Betrothed  we  are,  and  married  we  will  be 
before  the  winter  comes." 

"And  you  are  happy,  Trynje,  happy?" 

"Oh,  yes."  Trynje  looked  very  complacent.  She 
was  quite  satisfied. 

Alaine  patted  the  hand  resting  on  her  knee,  but  as 
she  leaned  her  head  back  against  the  soft  fur  which 
hung  over  the  chair  the  tears  welled  up  into  her 
eyes.  Madam  van  der  Been,  standing  behind  her, 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  girl's  head.  She  looked  up 
and  with  trembling  lips  asked,  "Is  there  no  hope, 
no  hope?" 

"We  have  heard  nothing,  but  there  is  always 
hope  till  worst  is  proved.  Be  comforted  by  that, 
my  child.  One  there  is  in  there  who  has  less  to 
hope  for  than  you,  for  he  is  helpless,  paralyzed,  but 
entirely  conscious,  and  there  he  must  lie  waiting  for 
death  to  release  him,  arid  with  but  a  misspent  life 
to  dwell  upon.  Yet  sinned  against  he  has  been,  and 
forgive  him  you  should." 

Alaine  turned  her  dark  eyes  upon  the  goede  vrouw's 
kind  face.  "  You  mean — who  is  it,  Madam  ?" 

"  Frangois  Dupont  it  is." 

"He   is   here?      He   lives!     But   for   him " 


284  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

She  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side  as  if  to  deny 
any  possibility  of  forgiveness. 

"  He  wishes  to  see  you  when  you  are  stronger. 
He  has  a  confession  to  make  to  you." 

"I  cannot  hear  it;  not  now,1'  returned  Alaine, 
unot  now." 

"  Then  we  will  not  urge  it.  Very  long  his  time 
cannot  be.  Far  beyond  what  we  looked  for  he  has 
endured.  But  I  hoped " 

"  Hush,  hush,  mother,"  Trynje  broke  in.  "  She 
is  not  to  be  troubled  by  such  things.  She  her 
strength  must  get,  and  worry  her  you  must  not." 
And  Trynje  looked  as  severe  as  she  was  capable  of 
doing.  "  I  must  go  in  now,  my  mother,  and  I  leave 
you  here  ;  very  cheerful  you  must  be  ;  of  dying  and 
such  things  you  must  not  speak.  Good  stories  you 
must  tell  of  when  you  were  a  little  girl,  and  laugh 
you  must."  She  shook  her  finger  at  her  mother 
and  ran  in. 

Alaine  sat  mournfully  gazing  around  her.  Yonder 
was  the  woodland  path  along  which  Madam  De 
Vries  had  approached ;  there  the  little  spring  to 

which  Jeanne  had  gone  for  water ;  there She 

shuddered  and  hid  her  eyes,  as  if  still  before  her 
shrieked  and  yelled  the  horde  of  bloodthirsty  In 
dians.  "  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  murmured.  "  I 
want  to  see  Michelle  and  Papa  Louis  and  Gerard.  I 
am  so  tired  of  being  away  from  home.  Will  you 
not  take  me  there?" 

"  In  a  little  while ;    as    soon  as  you   are  able," 


FORGIVENESS  285 

Madam  van  der  Dcen  told  her,  gently.  And,  indeed, 
it  seemed  while  in  the  midst  of  scenes  connected 
with  such  terrible  memories  that  she  was  not  likely 
to  entirely  recover.  Therefore,  to  Trynje's  disap 
pointment  it  was  decided  that  the  invalid  should  be 
taken  as  far  as  Fort  Orange,  and,  if  she  were  able  to 
stand  the  journey,  to  go  from  there  to  New  York, 
still  known  as  New  Amsterdam  by  these  good 
people. 

"  And  must  I  remain  ?"  said  Fran£ois,  when  he 
was  told.  "  I  cannot  be  left  here  to  trouble  you. 
Prisoner  I  am,  but  I  shall  be  free  soon,  and  I  would 
die  among  my  own  people.  I,  too,  must  go." 

Madam  van  der  Been  looked  puzzled.  It  was 
part  of  the  plan  that  Alaine  should  be  removed  from 
his  neighborhood,  for  the  mere  mention  of  him 
caused  the  girl  such  distress  that  the  goede  vrouw 
had  determined  to  give  up  a  scheme  for  the  meeting 
of  these  two,  resolved  that  if  one  must  be  considered 
that  Alaine  should  be  the  one.  Yet  she  made  a  final 
effort  in  Francis's  behalf  and  drew  a  pitiful  picture 
of  the  man's  helplessness,  his  longing  for  forgiveness, 
his  desire  to  make  his  peace  with  the  world  before 
he  left  it,  so  that  Alaine,  moved  to  pity,  no  longer 
protested,  but  faintly  said,  "  Could  he  be  taken 
away  safely?  Does  he  so  desire  it?" 

"  He  desires  it  above  all  things  to  be  taken  to  the 
house  of  your  family  there  in  New  Rochelle.  He 
refers  again  and  again  to  the  goodness  of  Madame 
Mercier,  to  his  own  tyrannical  spirit,  and  repeats  his 


286  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

longing  to  be  allowed  to  die  there.  I  think  my  hus 
band  will  have  no  difficulty  in  persuading  the  au 
thorities  to  allow  it  when  they  see  his  condition. 
He  is  our  enemy  and  a  prisoner,  but  a  helpless 
one." 

Alaine  sat  thinking  deeply.  "  I  think  I  am  almost 
forgetting  to  be  a  Christian,"  she  said.  "I  am  so 
weak,  so  wretched,  so  grief-worn,  but  if  it  can  ease 
a  departing  soul  to  grant  his  request,  and  he  can  be 
safely  taken,  I  shall  not  deny  my  consent.  But  do 
not  let  me  see  him  yet." 

"That  is  the  good  child.  I  expected  nothing  less 
of  you,"  Madam  told  her.  "  So  then  I  think  we 
shall  trust  him  to  Adriaen,  whose  heart  is  so  warm 
at  thought  of  his  marriage  to  Trynje  that  the  whole 
world  he  loves.  Smiling  and  staring,  he  sits  there 
by  Frangois  just  for  the  sake  of  comradeship.  They 
can  go  on  ahead  to  Fort  Orange,  and  we  will  follow. 
From  there  it  will  not  be  much  of  a  voyage  down 
the  river  to  New  Amsterdam."  The  goede  vrouw 
had  arranged  it  all  to  her  satisfaction,  and  sat  smiling 
over  the  plan. 

"  He  is  better.  Better  is  Frangois  Dupont," 
Trynje  told  Alaine.  "  Scarce  believe  it  would  I,  but 
he  lies  there  and  smiles  and  chatters  at  Adriaen,  who 
smiles  at  him,  and  sits  and  smokes  and  blinks  and 
blushes,  though  not  a  word  he  understands  of  what 
is  said.'1  Trynje  laughed.  "  But  good  care  he  will 
have,  and  I  shall  let  him  go  all  the  way  to  New 
Amsterdam."  She  spoke  with  a  pretty  air  of  pro- 


FORGIVENESS  287 

prietorship.  Her  little  heart  had  adjusted  itself  very 
readily  and  there  was  not  any  one  now  like  Adriaen. 
"And  my  mother  will  go,"  Trynje  added,  "and  my 
father.  They  will  take  the  time  to  buy  my  wedding 
finery,  though  it  is  little  I  need,  for  long  ago  my 
chests  were  filled.1' 

One  morning,  therefore,  Alaine  bade  good-by  to 
the  fort  and  the  blockhouse,  to  little  Trynje  and  the 
flock  of  flaxen-haired  children.  Mynheer  van  der 
Deen  and  his  goede  vrouw  accompanied  this  party ; 
the  first  had  gone  on.  Adriaen  and  his  man  Isaac 
took  charge  of  Fra^ois.  The  young  Dutchman's 
face  was  wreathed  in  smiles.  He  gloated  over  his 
charge  as  a  mother  over  her  baby.  Trynje  had 
given  him  this  to  do.  Very  well,  it  became  a  pleasure, 
and  he  would  do  it  as  faithfully  as  he  could. 

Fran£ois  gave  a  little  weak  laugh  as  he  was  de 
posited  in  the  canoe  on  a  pile  of  skins.  "  My  faith ! 
but  I  never  expected  to  travel  again,  and  here  I  am 
still  following  mademoiselle  about.  She  has  not  a 
word  for  me,  and  no  wronder."  A  shadow  passed 
over  his  face,  for  the  pains  spent  upon  him  by 
Johanna  van  der  Deen  were  not  without  result,  and 
in  the  weeks  of  suffering,  in  the  long  nights  when 
she  had  watched  by  his  side,  he  had  spoken  to  her 
as  to  a  mother.  He  had  lost  much  of  his  arrogance, 
and  acknowledged  that  he  was  a  mere  siraw  driven 
by  the  wind,  a  leaf  in  a  storm. 

"  You  have  dared  to  undertake  to  change  the  de 
crees  of  the  Almighty,  little  insignificant  human 


288  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

creature  that  you  are,"  Madam  van  der  Deen  had 
said  to  him.  "  You  have  thought  your  will  stronger 
than  that  of  God.  Wrapped  in  your  own  selfish 
desires  you  have  forgotten  that  the  cry  of  the  help 
less  is  more  powerful  than  the  clash  of  a  destroying 
sword  in  the  hands  of  man." 

"You  have  me  here,  and  I  cannot  get  away," 
Frangois  had  returned.  "  Say  on,  mother.  I  will 
listen,  for  I  cannot  help  myself.  You  are  as  good 
a  preacher  as  the  old  renegade  priest."  He  had 
learned  of  Father  Bisset's  change  of  belief  and  of 
his  plan  of  escape,  and  he  had  laughed.  Plis  respect 
for  the  wily  Jacques  Bisset  increased  as  his  anger 
against  the  priest  died  away.  "  At  least,  then,  we 
are  quits,"  he  had  said.  "I  fooled  him  and  he 
fooled  me,  so  that  is  done  with.  Now  I  am  here, 
shattered  and  done  for.  Lendert  Verplanck  takes 
his  way  out  of  the  world  by  another  road.  There 
is  then  left  the  man  Pierre  Boutillier,  and  he  is  no 
doubt  as  good  as  dead.  All  that  the  work  of  one 
girl." 

"  The  work  of  wicked  men,"  Madam  van  der  Deen 
had  replied,  "  of  Louis  XIV.  and  Fran£ois  Dupont." 

At  that  Francois  had  laughed.  "Thanks  for 
coupling  my  name  with  his  majesty's.  He  would 
feel  flattered." 

But  all  this  had  been  gone  over  days  before,  Fran- 
9ois  reflected,  as  he  lay  in  the  canoe  floating  down  the 
river  Hudson.  A  prisoner,  with  a  useless  and  suf 
fering  body,  but  with  brain  alive  and  strong  enough 


FORGIVENESS  289 

to  guide  his  will.  They  did  not  want  him.  They 
would  fain  have  thrown  him  overboard.  He  would 
be  received  with  aversion  by  Michelle ;  yet,  helpless 
as  he  was,  he  was  having  his  way,  and  he  could  still 
smile  when  he  thought  of  that. 

At  Fort  Orange  they  learned  that  Jacob  Leisler 
had  paid  the  penalty  of  his  mistaken  and  obdurate 
policy,  and  that  by  contemptible  methods  his  ene 
mies  had  rid  themselves  of  him.  The  new  governor 
was  in  power  and  the  white  people  were  again  in 
the  ascendant.  Alaine,  overcome  with  grief,  and 
full  of  longing  to  see  her  friends  again,  heard  these 
matters  discussed,  but  heard  indifferently.  The  time 
had  passed  when  they  could  interest  her.  She  felt 
a  dull  sense  of  pleasure  that  the  first  stage  of  the 
journey  was  over  and  that  they  would  soon  be 
nearing  New  York.  So  far  she  had  steadfastly 
avoided  meeting  Francois,  but  soon  it  would  be  no 
longer  possible,  for  they  must  travel  in  the  same 
conveyance  from  New  York  to  the  French  settle 
ment. 

"  It  will  have  to  be,  my  child,"  said  Madam  van 
der  Deen.  "  You  cannot  avoid  it,  for  he  will  be 
under  the  same  roof." 

"  So  he  has  been  these  weeks  past  and  I  have  not 
seen  him.  He  must  be  there,  yes,  while  he  lives, 
while  he  lives.  Ah,  that  I  might  have  been  spared 
this  !" 

"  It  is  not  so  great  a  matter,"  said  the  good  lady, 
looking  at  her  serenely. 

19 


290  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"He  is  Lendert's  murderer.1' 

"  Oh,  no,  that  he  is  not." 

"  It  was  he  who  ordered  them  to  take  him.  Shall 
I  ever  forget  it  ?  And  has  he  not  made  my  life  one 
of  unutterable  misery?  Must  I  forgive  him  all  he 
has  made  me  suffer  during  these  years  ?  Did  I  not 
have  enough  to  bear  before  that  ?  Was  it  nothing 
that  I  must  leave  my  home,  be  separated  from  my 
only  living  parent,  and  come  to  a  strange  land,  but 
I  must  be  weighted  down  by  these  heavier  sorrows  ?" 

"  Seventy  times  seven,"  returned  her  friend. 

Alaine  shook  her  head.  "There  are  some  things 
one  can  never  forgive." 

"  But  he  is  penitent." 

"How  do  you  know?  He  can  appear  to  be  any 
thing.  He  is  a  vile  dissembler." 

"  He  has  confessed  to  me  that  he  is  sorry  for  his 
misdeeds.  He  wishes  to  tell  you  so,  and  there  are 
other  things  he  desires  you  to  know." 

"  I  'do  not  trust  him.  He  would  be  as  bad  as 
ever  if  he  were  strong  and  well." 

"  That  he  will  never  be.     Will  you  see  him  now  ?" 

Alaine  arose.  They  had  lodged  for  the  night  in 
one  of  the  ordinaries  of  the  town.  They  would 
soon  be  starting  upon  the  second  stage  of  their 
journey. 

The  girl's  face  was  drawn  and  white  as  she  fol 
lowed  Madam  van  der  Deen  to  another  room.  She 
trembled  and  was  hot  by  turns.  This  meeting  that 
she  had  dreaded  for  weeks,  that  she  had  put  off,  arid 


FORGIVENESS  291 

that  Trynje  had  helped  her  to  defer,  must  now  come 
about. 

At  Madam's  tap  upon  the  door  Adriaen  opened  it. 
The  two  women  entered  and  the  door  closed  behind 
them.  Where  the  light  from  a  window  fell  upon 
him  Frangois  Dupont  was  propped  up  in  his  bed ; 
he  was  waiting  for  them.  He  was  so  thin  that  his 
eyes  seemed  too  large  and  deep  set  for  so  pale  a 
face ;  his  hands  were  like  claws,  and  his  lips  were 
bloodless.  At  sight  of  his  utter  helplessness  Alaine 
felt  her  first  wave  of  pity,  but  she  steeled  herself 
against  it. 

He  smiled  as  he  saw  her,  and  said,  "  At  last, 
mademoiselle.  I  have  long  wanted  to  see  you,  and 
the  fault  of  our  not  meeting  is  not  mine.  Will  my 
good  nurse  give  mademoiselle  a  chair?" 

Adriaen  understood,  but  Alaine  refused  to  seat 
herself. 

With  a  look  at  Adriaen,  Madam  retired  and  the 
young  Dutchman  followed.  Alaine,  mute,  troubled, 
a  little  pitiful  for  the  invalid,  wholly  resentful  toward 
the  man,  stood  there. 

Frangois  regarded  her  for  some  moments  in  silence. 
"  I  have  been  the  cause  of  much  suffering  for  you, 
mademoiselle,1'  he  said  at  last,  "  and  I  wish  to  tell  you 
of  my  sorrow." 

"  Sorrow  comes  too  late,  monsieur.  In  return  I 
can  only  say  that  if  I  despised  you  before,  now  that 
you  are  become  the  worst  of  creation,  a  murderer,  I 
can  only  look  at  you  with  horror  and  loathing." 


292  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

He  winced  but  went  on  speaking.  "  Let  us  first 
talk  of  that  morning  when  I  saw  you  last.  The 
attack  was  not  a  personal  matter.  I  was  with  others 
who  had  long  desired  to  make  a  raid  into  the  Eng 
lish  colony.  The  opportunity  came  and  we  took  it. 
T  was  chosen  to  lead  the  little  company  of  French 
men  who  were  allies  of  the  Indians.  If  the  carry 
ing  out  of  what  seems  one's  duty  in  serving  one's 
country  is  a  crime,  then  I  am  punished.  None  but 
myself  can  realize  how  great  is  this  punishment,  this 
long  death.  I  lie  here  paralyzed  ;  only  my  head  and 
my  hands  are  free  to  move.  I  do  not  say  this  to 
extort  pity  from  you,  but  to  let  you  know  that  I  have 
not  come  off  better  than  my  enemies.  M.  Ver- 
planck " 

"Hush!"  Alaine  raised  her  hand.  There  was 
agony  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  voice. 

Francois  turned  his  head  away.  "  I  did  not  un 
derstand,"  he  said,  after  a  pause.  "  I  thought  it  was 
your  sweet  womanly  pity  which  made  you  give  your 
body  as  a  defence.  I  thought  it  was  the  other  one, 
—that  Pierre.  I  cannot  ask  your  forgiveness  now, 
mademoiselle,  for  I  understand.  I  must  tell  you 
that  I  employed  one  who  played  the  spy  for  me  iti 
those  first  days  of  our  acquaintance,  and  when  you 
came  so  readily  in  answer  to  the  supposed  word 
from  Pierre,  I  believed  he  was  the  one  you  favored. 
I  thought  it  was  but  a  friendship  and  a  wish  to 
oppose  me  that  gave  you  a  kindly  attitude  toward 
any  one  else.  I  understand.  Holy  Mother !  yes, 


FORGIVENESS  293 

who  better  ?  I  wish  to  tell  you ;  it  was  fitienne, 
and  I  desired  revenge.  I  loved  Constance  De  Caux 
in  my  student  days  there  in  France,  but  fitienne 
she  loved.  He  laughed  when  I  said  he  had  stolen 
her  from  me.  He  said,  l  If  you  do  not  know  how 
to  keep  her  love,  find  out,  but  if  you  expect  me  not 
to  profit  by  your  ignorance,  you  are  a  fool.'  And  I 
vowed  I  would  win  her  or  would  have  my  revenge. 
She  did  not  love  me,  although  I  swear  but  for 
fitienne  she  would  have  done  so,  and  she  was  all 
pity  for  fitienne,  who  had  lost  his  cousin  Alaine. 
He  came  to  me  bowed  down  with  grief,  and  I  pre-' 
tended  to  give  him  my  friendship  again.  But  I  had 
not  forgotten.  No,  I  had  not  forgotten.  Will  you 
give  me  a  drop  of  that  wine?  I  am  very  weak.1' 

Alaine  handed  him  the  cup  but  did  not  offer  to 
help  him  to  drink;  instead  she  turned  away  and- 
stood  looking  out  the  window  till  he  spoke  again,  then 
she  took  the  cup  from  him  and  placed  it  on  the  table. 

He  went  on  with  his  story.  "  Then  I  said,  I  will 
find  her,  this  cousin,  and  if  I  can  bring  her  back  to 
Etienne  he  will  marry  her,  and  after  a  while  Constance 
will  remember  how  long  I  have  loved  her.  I  came. 
I  found  Alaine,  but  she  would  not  marry  Etienne, 
I  saw  that,  but  I  did  not  tell  him,  for  I  had  then  an 
other  plan.  He  believed  Alaine  to  be  dead,  and 
then  he  married  Constance,  and  broke  her  heart  by  his 
indifference.  I  never  told  you  all  this,  for  I  wished 
to  marry  you  myself,  and  returning,  I  thought  to 
flaunt  my  wife  in  the  face  of  him  who  had  vowed  to 


294  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

win  her,  as  I  had  vowed  to  win  Constance.  I  knew 
that  your  estates  would  return  to  you  once  you  be 
came  my  wife,  and  I  said  I  will  have  them  and  her 
self  too ;  thus  will  I  revenge  myself  upon  fitienne, 
who  would  fain  have  had  both.  He  crossed  me  in 
my  love,  and  I  will  show  him  that  I  can  do  the 
same.  A  sweet  revenge !  A  sweet  revenge !  for 
Constance  is  dead  and  in  heaven  ;  she  will  know  who 
it  is  that  loves  her,  and  there  she  is  mine  and  not 
his — not  his.  I  would  have  won  you  for  my  wife, 
and  so  he  would  have  been  left  with  neither  one  to 
bless  his  days.  Now  it  is  all  over  and  I  have  lost 
my  last  throw." 

He  lay  very  still,  his  eyes  closed,  his  breath  coming 
quickly.  It  was  evident  that  the  recital  had  cost 
him  all  the  strength  he  could  summon.  Alaine 
again  took  the  cup  of  wine  to  him.  "Will  you 
drink?"  she  said.  "It  has  been  an  effort  to  tell  me 
all  this." 

He  opened  his  eyes  to  smile  at  her.  u  Thank 
you.  How  kind  you  are !  How  good  and  sweet 
you  have  always  been  !  Even  when  you  have  flung 
your  defiance  at  me,  it  was  always  as  a  rebuking 
angel  might  speak.  If  I  had  never  loved  Constance — 
Yet,  I  would  have  been  kind  to  you.  I  would  have 
loved  you  as  most  men  love,  or  even  better.  One 
does  not  love  madly,  with  the  pain  and  the  depth  of 
a  hundred  loves  all  bound  in  one,  one  does  not  love 
so  but  once.  Never  but  once  that  comes,  and  to 
few." 


FORGIVENESS  295 

"  I — know."  The  words  came  painfully  from 
Alaine's  lips.  As  she  took  the  cup  away,  Francois 
seized  her  hand  and  turned  his  face  over  upon  it. 
Alaine  felt  hot  tears  from  the  eyes  pressing  her  palm. 

"Don't!  Don't!1'  she  cried,  drawing  her  hand 
away. 

"At  last  I  understand,"  he  repeated.  "As  I  can 
not  forgive  I^tienne,  so  you  cannot  forgive  me.  Let 
me  tell  you  all.  I  lured  you  to  the  house  in  the 
woods  that  first  summer  that  we  met.  The  men 
whom  you  believed  to  be  political  spies  were  emis 
saries  of  a  Jesuit  who  is  yet  working  among  them 
there  in  Manhatte.  He  is  not  known  as  aught  but 
a  Protestant,  and  I  will  not  reveal  his  name,  but  it 
was  through  him  that  I  was  able  to  carry  out  the 
plan  which  we  meant  should  result  in  your  being 
removed  from  your  home.  The  questions  put  to 
you  were  of  no  importance,  and  were  but  to  blind 
you  to  the  real  object.  Again  I  wrote  the  letter  from 
Quebec,  after  I  found  you  had  escaped.  I  hoped 
that  it  might  aid  me  in  preventing  your  marriage  to 
another,  and  I  hoped  to  discover  your  hiding-place 
and  to  prevent  any  others  from  seeking  you.  How  I 
have  planned  and  plotted  and  set  spies  upon  you 
and  dogged  your  actions  !  I  meant,  if  you  should 
find  your  way  back  to  your  friends,  to  come  to  you 
with  a  letter  purporting  to  be  from  your  father.  I 
had  meant  to  do  even  that,  to  pretend  that  I  had  his 
consent  to  our  marriage.  I  would  have  done  even 
that.  I  think  I  have  told  you  all  now.  If  I  have 


296  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

robbed  your  life  of  happiness,  so  you  know  I  am 
not  less  miserable.  I  carry  the  burden  of  love 
denied,  of  revenge  untasted,  of  ambition  thwarted, 
of  a  miserable,  helpless,  suffering  body.  Mon  Dieu  ! 
is  it  not  enough  ?  I  ask  you,  even  you,  Alaine  Her- 
vieu,  whom  I  have  wronged  and  have  hurt  as  I  have 
hurt  no  other  creature,  is  it  not  enough  that  with  all 
this  I  must  yet  live  and  face  you,  and  see  your 
misery  and  bear  this  gnawing  misery  of  knowing  I 
have  broken  your  heart,  and  that  my  own  wretched 
ness  is  scarcely  greater  ?" 

Alaine  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside. 
"  Lord  be  merciful  to  us  !"  she  cried.  "  Pray,  Fran- 
£ois  Dupont,  pray !" 

And  Frangois  whispered,  "  Lord  be  merciful  to  us  !'' 

Alaine  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Sobs  shook 
her  slight  frame.  "  Forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we 
forgive  those  who  trespass  against  us."  She  said 
the  words  brokenly. 

Francois  timidly  reached  out  his  hand  and  laid  it 
on  her  head.  His  lips  moved,  and  when  Alaine 
arose  to  her  feet  he  looked  at  her  with  eyes  so  full 
of  entreaty  that  she  bowed  her  head.  "  God  for 
give  you,  Francois  Dupont,  and  I  pray  that  I  may. 
I  cannot  yet, — I  cannot, — but  I  pray  that  I  may  yet 
be  able  to  do  so." 

And  then  Adriaen  came  in.  "  We  must  make 
ready  to  start,1'  he  said. 

Alaine  turned  to  go.  "  Mademoiselle,"  said  Fran- 
£ois,  "if  I  could  fall  on  my  knees  before  you  I 


FORGIVENESS  297 

would  do  it ;  as  it  is,  my  heart  is  bowed  in  reverence 
for  you.  God  knows  it  would  be  a  small  thing  to 
die  for  you,  but  I  shall  live,  and  perhaps  by  living  a 
little  longer  I  may  yet  do  something  to  undo  my 
great  wrong  to  you.  If  I  might,  if  I  might.11 

When  she  had  left  the  room  Francois  spoke  to 
Adriacn.  He  had  learned  enough  Dutch  in  these 
weeks  to  carry  on  a  halting  conversation  with  his 
self-instituted  nurse.  "  Adriaen,  my  good  fellow,  I 
am  as  full  of  whims  as  an  egg  is  of  meat.  What 
would  you  say  if  I  declared  that  I  had  determined 
to  go  back  to  Canada  ?  Helpless  wretch  that  I  am, 
there  is  yet  work  for  me  to  do  and  you  must  help 
me  to  do  it.  Will  you  ?" 

It  took  some  moments  for  this  to  get  through 
Adriaen's  brain,  but  finally  he  nodded,  "  Yes.11 

"  I  am  a  prisoner.  I  wish  to  be  exchanged.  I 
wish  to  remain  here  in  Orange.  I  shall  not  die  yet. 
I  am  not  worth  one  able-bodied  man,  but  there  is 
enough  of  me,  seeing  my  headpiece  is  still  good, 
there  is  enough  to  work  an  exchange.  You  will 
stay  with  me  here  ?" 

"That  will  I  do.11 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  shall  go  back.  One  might 
suppose  I  enjoyed  travelling  about  the  country  in  a 
canoe.11  He  laughed  mirthlessly.  "  I  ought  to  die 
by  the  way,  but  I  shall  not,  I  say  I  shall  not.  Let 
me  remain  here  and  see  the  big-wigs.  Get  that 
managed  for  me,  and  let  us  remain.  It  is  that  much 
nearer  your  sweetheart,  you  see.11 


298  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Adriaen  smiled  broadly  and  regarded  Frangois  with 
a  puzzled  look.  This  sudden  change  of  plans  was 
bewildering,  and  he  felt  that  he  could  not  adjust 
himself  to  it  as  rapidly  as  this  keen  young  French 
man. 

"  Will  you  ask  Madam  van  der  Deen  and  made 
moiselle  if  they  will  permit  me  to  make  my  adieux 
to  them?  I  would  not  force  myself  upon  them 
again  to-day,  but  I  may  not  live  to  see  them  again." 
He  spoke  quietly  of  what  long  since  had  become  an 
accepted  fact  with  him. 

Adriaen  withdrew  and  took  the  message  to  Madam 
van  der  Deen.  "  What  means  this  sudden  change 
of  plans  ?"  she  asked. 

"That  I  know  not."  Adriaen  had  not  recovered 
from  his  surprise  of  it  himself. 

"  How  can  he  wish  to  attempt  it  when  he  has 
been  so  eager  to  reach  New  Rochelle?  It  passes 
my  comprehension.  I  must  consult  my  husband. 
The  man  will  die  by  the  way,"  Madam  declared. 

"  Perhaps  that  is  what  he  wishes,"  thought  Alaine. 

The  interview  with  Frangois  which  Joachim  van 
der  Deen  sought  did  not  alter  the  former's  decision. 
"  He  has  a  will  of  iron,"  Joachim  told  his  wife.  "  He 
cannot  be  moved  from  his  intention,  and,  helpless 
though  he  is,  one  finds  oneself  agreeing  with  what 
ever  he  proposes.  A  pity  so  able  a  man  should  be 
smitten  down  at  this  early  age.  He  is  our  enemy 
and  could  do  us  much  harm,  but  one  cannot  re 
member  that  when  one  is  in  his  presence.  He 


FORGIVENESS  299 

means  to  return  to  Canada,  and  when  all  is  said  that 
is  the  sum  of  it." 

"  Will  you  go  in  to  see  him?"  Madam  looked  at 
Alaine,  who  followed  without  a  word. 

"  This  is  kind,  madam,"  was  the  greeting  from 
Francois.  u  And  you,  mademoiselle,  I  did  not  hope 
for  this  added  grace  from  you.  I  am  going.  I  mean 
to  do  more  before  1  die.  If  I  can,  I  will  do  more. 
We  shall  probably  not  meet  again,  and  therefore  I 
have  asked  to  make  my  final  adieux.  Words  are 
poor  things.  I  cannot  thank  you  as  I  would  for  all 
your  motherly  kindness  to  a  wounded  prisoner, 
Madam  van  der  Been,  but  I  shall  remember  it  as 
one  of  the  few  pleasant  things  which  have  come  to 
me.  Mademoiselle  Hervieu,  adieu.  Will  you  come 
nearer?"  She  came  to  his  side.  "You  said  pray, 
and  I  will  pray  to  the  blessed  Virgin  day  and  night, 
to  her  and  to  all  the  saints,  that  you  may  have  peace. 
If  we  do  not  meet  again,  I  shall  have  tried  to  make 
amends.  Will  you  remember  that?" 

She  bowed  her  head  in  assent. 

"Adieu,  then." 

"Adieu,  monsieur." 

They  left  him,  so  wreak  in  body,  so  strong  of  will, 
so  wrong-headed,  so  weary-hearted,  with  deter 
mination  written  in  his  deep-set  eyes,  and  even  in 
dicated  by  the  nervous  clasp  of  the  wasted  fingers. 
He  turned  to  Adriaen.  "  Now,  then,  we  remain  for 
a  space,  and  the  saints  spare  me  to  do  this  thing  which 
is  not  for  revenge,  nor  for  ambition,  nor  for  fame." 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

PAPA    LOUIS    TELLS    A    STORY 

EVERYTHING  was  gay  and  smiling  in  and  around 
the  home  of  the  Merciers  on  that  day  when  Alain e 
arrived.  The  door  was  open  and  there  was  the 
sound  of  some  one  singing  as  Alaine  used  to  sing. 
"  How  soon  one  is  forgotten !"  she  whispered  to 
Madam  van  der  Been. 

The  goede  vrouw  shook  her  head.  "  That  does 
not  count.  One  sometimes  sings  to  cover  up  a 
heartache." 

But  in  this  instance  this  was  not  so,  for,  as  Alaine 
stopped  before  the  door  and  looked  in,  she  saw  a 
brisk  little  figure  stepping  back  and  forth  before  the 
spinning-wheel.  Her  thread  broke  short  with  a 
snap  as  she  saw  who  was  arrived.  "  Nomme  de 
Dieu  !"  she  cried,  turning  pale  and  staring  at  Alaine 
as  if  she  saw  a  ghost. 

"  Mathilde  !"  cried  Alaine,  holding  out  her  hands. 
"  Mathilde,  and  do  you  not  know  me  ?" 

Then  with  a  scream  Mathilde  darted  toward  her, 
kissed  her  on  each  cheek,  pinched  her,  patted  her, 
all  the  time  exclaiming  between  tears  and  laughter. 

"Michelle,  and  Papa  Louis,  and  Gerard,  where 
are  they?"  at  last  Alaine,  recovering  from  the  em 
braces,  found  voice  to  ask. 

300 


PAPA  LOUIS   TELLS   A  STORY        301 

"  I  will  call  them.  They  do  not  know  ?  Ciel ! 
but  this  is  a  good  day.  I  will  not  stop  to  question, 
though  I  am  dying  to  know  how  it  is  that  you  come, 
and  all  of  it.1'  She  but  stopped  to  drop  a  courtesy 
to  the  friends,  whom  Alaine  named,  and  was  off. 

Familiar,  yet  unfamiliar,  the  place  looked  to  Alaine. 
The  little  table  still  held  the  small  black  books ; 
there  was  the  big  chair  on  its  rollers ;  yonder  the 
high-post  bedsteads,  yet  the  dim  blue  hangings  had 
been  exchanged  for  a  soft  yellow,  with  a  delicate 
tracery  of  vine  bordering  them,  and  they  were  fur 
ther  finished  by  a  knitted  fringe.  A  coverlet  of  the 
same  linen  adorned  the  bed,  and  this,  too,  was  em 
broidered.  Two  painted  feather  fans  ornamented 
the  mantel,  and  a  hand-screen  lay  on  the  table  near 
by.  Throughout  the  room  there  was  a  dainty  femi 
nine  touch  visible  which  had  not  been  so  observable 
before.  Alaine  noticed,  too,  that  one  of  the  doors 
led  to  a  room  lately  added.  This  she  must  see. 
There  stood  another  high  bed  and  a  dressing-table 
decked  with  soft  white  draperies  delicately  em 
broidered. 

She  had  not  time  to  distinguish  more,  for  a  clatter 
of  wooden  shoes  along  the  porch  and  a  sound  of 
voices  scolding,  protesting,  laughing,  proclaimed  the 
coming  of  the  Merciers.  Michelle,  in  advance  of 
the  others,  stopped  short  at  sight  of  strangers,  of 
Madam  van  der  Been  and  the  sturdy  Joachim  ;  then 
she  broke  forth  with  a  cry,  "  My  child  !  My  child  !  is 
it  of  her  you  bring  me  news  ?  My  little  lost  lamb  ?" 


302  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

Alaine,  half  hidden  by  the  curtains  of  the  bed, 
sprang  out.  "Not  lost,  Michelle,  dear  Mere  Mi 
chelle,  but  here,  here !  Look  at  me,  see  me,  it  i& 
your  own  Alainette !" 

Michelle  turned  to  her  husband  for  support 
"  What  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  ?  She  has  re 
nounced  her  faith  and  her  friends.  She  has  become 
French,1'  and  Michelle  dropped  upon  a  bench  and 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

Alaine  knelt  by  her.  u  That  she  has  not,  Michelle. 
It  was  all  a  wicked  lie  meant  to  deceive  you.  I  am 
still  Alaine  Mercier,  your  daughter  and  Papa  Louis's, 
if  you  will  have  it  so.  I  have  never  returned  to 
France.  I  have  never  become  the  wife  of  any  one. 
I  have  never  renounced  my  faith.  Will  you  not 
welcome  me  again,  Papa  Louis  and  Gerard  ?" 

For  answer  Papa  Louis  opened  his  arms,  and 
Alaine  went  to  him,  resting  her  head  on  his  shoulder 
and  holding  out  her  hand  to  Gerard.  "  And  you,  my 
brother?" 

"  Alaine,  my  sister."  He  stooped  and  kissed  her 
upon  each  cheek. 

Then  Michelle  arose.  "  You  claim  her,  all  of  you, 
when  she  was  mine  first,  mine.  My  little  baby  all 
those  years  ago  when  my  own  little  one  died  after 
they  brought  my  young  husband  home  to  me,  dead. 
My  baby,  who  comforted  me  and  who  crept  into  my 
desolate  heart.  My  girl,  whom  I  cherished  and  cared 
for  after  her  own  sainted  mother  became  an  angel. 
Mine,  whom  I  have  cared  for  and  wept  over  and 


PAPA   LOUIS   TELLS   A   STORY        303 

nursed  and  loved.  Go,  all  of  you.  Do  not  touch 
her,  my  little  one,  my  baby,  my  heart.  Come  to 
me,  my  Alainette.  I  was  dazed.  I  was  blind.  I  was 
stupefied.  Come  to  me,  my  baby,  my  daughter." 

Alaine's  arms  went  around  Michelle's  neck.  "  God 
is  good!  God  is  good!"  Michelle  murmured,  the 
tears  running  down  her  cheeks. 

Meantime,  Papa  Louis  turned  to  Mynheer  van  der 
Deen  and  his  wife.  "You  will  excuse  this,  my 
friends.  We  are  overcome,  and  we  forget  to  thank 
you  for  bringing  us  our  daughter." 

UI  want  to  know  how  it  happened,"  said  Ma- 
thilde. 

Alaine  disengaged  herself  from  Michelle's  embrace. 
"It  is  a  long,  long  story.  Can  you  hear  it  now? 
There  are  many  things  I,  too,  would  know."  She 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  saw  on  the  faces 
of  Mathildc  and  Gerard  a  conscious  smile.  Then 
she  understood.  "  You  are  married,  you  two ! 

That  is  why "  She  looked  around  the  room. 

These  pretty  femininities  were  Mathilde's  work.  She 
remembered  how  Mathilde  had  excelled  in  the  use 
of  her  brush  and  her  needle.  She  ran  up  to  her 
and  shook  her  playfully.  " Tell  me,  is  it  true?" 

"  It  is  true,"  laughed  Mathilde.  "  It  happened  two 
weeks  ago  last  Sunday  at  the  church  in  Manhatte. 
We  were  married  there.  Tell  her,  Gerard."  She 
turned  with  a  pretty  bashful  look  at  her  young  hus 
band,  who  regarded  her  small  self  with  admiring 
eyes. 


304  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

He  in  his  turn  said,  "  Let  Papa  Louis  tell  the 
story  ;  he  is  the  best  orator." 

"  It  was  last  winter  that  we  first  began  to  think 
of  it ;  I  should  say  that  it  was  then  that  Michelle  and 
I  did  so,  for  no  doubt  but  that  it  had  been  inter 
fering  with  the  peace  of  these  young  persons  long 
before  that,"  Papa  Louis  began.  "Michelle  there 
fell  sick  of  a  rheumatic  fever  and  we  all  were  in 
despair.  The  neighbors  were  kind,  so  very  kind, 
but  kindest  of  all  was  our  little  Mathilde,  who  came 
and  helped  to  nurse  her  night  and  day.  She  did 
more  than  that,  for  she  looked  after  the  house  so 
deftly  that  our  good  Michelle  herself  said  that  she 
could  have  done  no  better,  and  that  Mathilde's  dainty 
touch  was  something  that  she  could  never  hope  to 
attain.  For  myself,  I  did  not  contradict  her;  an 
invalid  must  not  be  contradicted,  you  know.1'  His 
cheery  laugh  warmed  Alaine 's  heart,  it  was  so 
pleasantly  familiar. 

"  So,  then,  when  our  maman  became  herself  again 
she  was  still  too  feeble  to  do  all  that  she  had  here 
tofore,  and  while  she  was  striving  for  strength  came 
the  letter  from  Francois  Dupont,  which  was  like  a 
death-knell  to  our  hope  of  seeing  our  daughter 
Alaine  again,  for  not  a  day  but  that  we  had  prayed 
and  longed  for  her  return.  So,  then,  we  said,  she  is 
lost  to  us  forever.  Then  came  the  young  Dutchman. 
Ah,  said  I,  when  I  told  him  the  news,  here  is  one 
whose  grief  is  as  great  as  ours,  and  if  it  should  be 
that  Alaine  returns,  it  is  he  who  loves  her  too  well 


PAPA   LOUIS   TELLS   A   STORY        305 

for  us  to  deny  her  to  him.  By  this  time  it  had  be 
come  very  plain  to  me  where  Gerard's  heart  was 
placed,  and  I  am  a  sentimental  old  man,  I  love  the 
poets,  I  love  the  songs  of  romance,  I  do  not  like  to 
break  hearts,  and  here,  I  said,  we  shall  make  a  mis 
take  if  we  reserve  Gerard  for  one  who  will  not  re 
turn,  and  even,  as  I  half  expected,  if  the  news  were 
false,  even  then,  I  thought,  it  will  still  be  better,  for 
it  is  Mathilde  whom  Gerard  loves.  Do  not  blush  so, 

little  bride,  it  is  quite  true.  I  said  that,  and  I  saw 

No,  no,  you  are  safely  married ;  there  is  no  harm  in 
telling  that  I  perceived  that  you  loved  him.  It  is 
quite  natural,  I  said,  for  he  is  tall  and  she  is  so 
little  ;  it  is  always  that  way.  Observe  my  inches 
and  then  gaze  upon  my  wife.'1  Every  one  laughed. 
There  was  never  any  resisting  Papa  Louis's  pleas 
antries. 

"  Now  I  come  to  the  finale.  By  this  time  we 
were  agreed  that  a  daughter  was  an  indispensable 
luxury.  Since  we  cannot  have  Alaine,  I  say,  why 
not  Mathilde  ?  '  Why  not,  indeed,'  agreed  Michelle, 
as  if  she  had  just  thought  of  it,  although  I  know  the 
idea  had  kept  her  awake  nights." 

"  Ta,  ta,  Louis,"  broke  in  Michelle,  "  that  is  not 
so.  Mathilde's  nightcaps  were  always  of  a  sort  to 
make  one  sleep.  To  be  sure,  I  thought  of  it — in  the 
daytime." 

Papa  Louis  laughed.  "  Very  well,  then,  we  pro 
ceed.  I  approach  Gerard  with  caution.  I  say,  'My 
son,  it  would  be  well  if  you  should  marry.  We 

20 


306  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

suddenly  seem  old,  my  wife  and  I ;  we  need  younger 
hands,  and  yours,  big  as  they  are,  cannot  do  every 
thing.'  l  Who,  then,  would  you  have  me  marry?' 
asked  Gerard,  all  expectant  eyes  and  ears.  I  con 
sider  a  moment.  '  How  would  Madelaine  Theroulde 
please  you?1  I  say.  He  turned  pale.  You  did, 
Gerard,  though  you  shake  your  head.  '  She  is  a 
good  girl,'  he  said,  '  certainly,  but '  '  Ah,1  I  re 
mark,  '  you  say  "  but.11  Then  let  us  pass  on.  I  think 
Michelle  and  I  might  be  satisfied  with  some  one  else. 
What  do  you  say  to  Adrienne  Selaine  ?1  And  then 
Gerard  had  no  smile  nor  even  a  word  for  a  moment 
or  two.  At  last  he  blurted  out,  '  And  why  not  Ma- 
thilde  Duval  ?1  I  laughed  then.  I  had  a  good  laugh. 
'  I  have  amused  myself,1 1  cried.  '  I  desired  to  break  it 
gently  to  you  lest  you  faint,  and  I  am  not  strong 
enough,  Gerard,  to  carry  you  in,  so  I  approached  the 
subject  with  care.  It  was  Mathilde  whom,  all  the 
time,  I  meant.1  And,  will  you  believe  it?  the  un- 
dutiful  son  then  and  there  fell  upon  me  and  pounded 
me,  then  he  embraced  me  in  so  bearlike  a  manner 
that  I  have  scarce  since  been  able  to  breathe  as  freely 
as  before,  and  the  only  way  I  could  recover  myself 
from  his  embrace  of  me  was  to  gasp,  '  But  Mathilde, 
Mathilde,  we  may  not  be  able  to  receive  the  consent 
of  her  guardian.'  And  then  he  dropped  me  and 
stood  off  staring  at  me.  Do  not  laugh,  Mathilde.  I 
should  not  perhaps  tell  all  this,  for  it  is  not  best 
always  to  let  a  woman  know  her  power.  I  never 
confess  to  Michelle  how  I  tremble  in  her  presence.11 


PAPA   LOUIS   TELLS   A   STORY        307 

Michelle  shook  her  head  at  him.  "We  desire 
facts,  Louis,  and  not  fancies." 

He  nodded  at  his  audience  as  he  would  say,  You 
see  how  I  am  ruled.  "  So,  then,11  he  resumed, 
"we  digress.  He  looked  crestfallen.  I  assure  him 
that  I  will  at  once  proceed  to  the  uncle  of  Mathilde. 
I  go.  I  return  shortly.  I  do  not  seem  to  see  that 
Gerard  has  done  much  work  in  my  absence,  for  he 
sits  stupidly  by  the  door  listening  to  Mathilde's  sing 
ing."  Papa  Louis  put  his  head  back  and  laughed 
again. 

"  I  say  as  I  enter,  '  Will  you  go  to  the  garden, 
Gerard,  and  see  how  many  chickens  the  yellow  hen 
has  hatched?  Michelle  wishes  to  know.'  'But  M. 
Theroulde  ?'  says  Gerard.  '  I  have  no  message  for 
you  from  M.  Theroulde,1 1  say,  looking  severe,  '  but  I 
have  one  for  Mathilde.1  He  goes  forth  slowly  as  if 
his  shoes  were  of  iron  instead  of  wood,  and  I  enter 
the  house.  'Mathilde,1 1  say, '  Gerard  has  gone  to  count 
the  yellow  hen's  chickens.  Will  you  go  to  him  and 
tell  him  that  when  he  has  concluded  the  sum  of 
them  that  I  am  waiting  here  with  Michelle  to  bestow 
a  blessing?1  Mathilde  looked  puzzled.  'On  the 
chickens  ?'  she  asked.  Ho  !  ho !  she  said  that. 
'  Not  on  the  chickens,  but  on  two  geese,1  I  reply. 
She  ran  out.  I  do  not  know  yet  if  she  understood, 
but  one  thing  I  do  know :  to  this  day  I  have  not 
been  told  the  number  of  the  yellow  hen^  chickens.11 

"  There  were  eleven,11  said  Michelle,  gravely. 
And  every  one  else  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh. 


308  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"That  is  all  my  part  of  the  story,"  Papa  Louis 
concluded.  "  Of  the  rest  it  better  befits  Michelle 
and  Mathilde  to  tell.  We  are  very  well  pleased,  are 
we  not,  Mathilde?1'  He  pinched  her  cheek  and 
looked  around  with  a  smile  for  every  one. 

And  then  Michelle,  arising  to  her  duty  as  hostess, 
set  out  to  prepare  a  feast  for  the  visitors,  while 
Alaine  gave  a  recital  of  her  experiences.  That  the 
dinner  was  not  late  was  not  due  to  the  frequent  in 
terruptions  caused  by  Michelle's  dropping  suddenly 
in  a  chair  to  raise  her  eyes  to  heaven  and  to  exclaim 
at  the  wickedness  of  man. 

It  was  after  the  meal  was  over  and  the  guests 
departed  that  Alaine,  looking  at  Mathilde,  said,  "  And 
Pierre?'" 

"  He  has  not  sent  a  word  nor  a  line.  We  fear  he 
is  no  more." 

Alaine  sighed.  Of  her  lovers,  who  were  left? 
Frangois,  a  wreck,  a  man  whose  days  were  num 
bered,  fitienne,  who  had  married  another,  and  who 
had  never  been  a  possibility  in  Alaine's  opinion. 
The  two  who  had  loved  her  best,  who  of  all  had 
received  affection  from  her,  these  were  gone.  She 
leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  slow  tears  rolled  down 
her  cheeks. 

Mathilde  came  and  stood  over  her.  "  So  pale  and 
wistful  you  look,  dear  Alaine,  and  I  am  too  happy 
to  be  here  before  you.  What  can  I  do  not  to  have 
it  seem  so  great  a  contrast  for  you,  my  sister  Alaine  ? 
For  you  are  my  sister." 


309 

"And  I  never  had  one,"  sighed  Alaine. 

"Think,  then,  now  I  have  father,  mother,  sister, 
and  brother,  I  who  lately  had  no  one.  Think  of 
that,  Alaine.  I,  too,  a  year  ago  was  desolate,  and 
now  how  happy  I  am !  If  I  needed  anything  to 
complete  my  joy,  it  was  your  return,  and  to-day 
brings  me  that.  I  can  almost  say  I  love  France,  I 
am  so  at  peace.  Do  you  know,  my  uncle  will  not 
speak  French  save  at  home,  and  he  calls  his  children 
by  the  English  names  John  and  Margaret  and  James. 
He  says  he  is  not  French,  that  this  is  his  country 
and  he  owes  it  his  allegiance,  and  so  say  I.  Let  us 
forget  France,  I  tell  Gerard.  We  have  had  merry 
times  here  together,  and  still  shall  have.  Now  that 
you  return  there  will  be  occasion  for  many  a  frolic. 
I  shall  take  you  to  a  little  festivity  to-morrow,  the 
fete-day  of  Suzanne  Gombeau.  We  shall  dance  and 
sing,  and  you  will  be  at  home  again  among  your 
friends." 

"Dance?  I  dance?"  Alaine  shook  her  head. 
"  My  heart  is  too  heavy  for  me  to  be  light-footed.  I 
will  stay  at  home,  Mathilde." 

"  We  will  see  what  Mere  Michelle  will  say  to  that. 
She  is  so  glad  to-day  she  could  dance  herself,  I 
think." 

Michelle  stood  gazing  at  her  darling.  "  I  cannot 
yet  believe  it,"  she  told  her,  "and  I  would  hear 
more  of  those  strange  journeys  of  yours,  of  Father 
Bisset  and  Madame  Herault.  Well  do  I  remember 
her,  a  handsome  young  woman  so  blithe  and  so 


310  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

brilliant."  She  shook  her  head.  Alaine's  tale  of 
Jeanne  had  greatly  moved  her.  "And  you  knew 
not  what  became  of  her?  That  is  strange,"  she 
remarked  at  the  close  of  Alaine's  tale  of  Jeanne's 
disappearance. 

"  We  do  not  know  whether  she  was  taken  away 
by  force  or  whether  she  went  willingly.  I  hope  the 
latter."  This  had  been  the  one  thought  which  had 
given  Alaine  comfort.  If  Jeanne  had  accompanied 
the  raiders  on  their  retreat  she  might  be  able  to  lend 
some  protection  to  Lendert,  she  and  Ricard.  The 
Indians,  however,  might  have  become  enraged  at 
what  they  felt  to  be  treachery  on  Jeanne's  part  and 
she,  too,  might  be  prisoner. 

To  Alaine  it  seemed  years  ago  that  all  those 
strange  things  had  happened.  In  a  year  she  had 
travelled  far,  had  suffered  the  sorrows  of  a  lifetime, 
yet  here  she  was  again  in  this  quiet  corner  of  the 
world.  The  twittering  birds,  the  soft  tinkling  of 
some  musical  instrument,  treasured  by  a  neighbor 
and  brought  over  from  France  with  great  care,  the 
old  familiar  sounds  came  in  through  the  open  win 
dow.  Here  was  rest  for  brain  and  body,  for  all  but 
her  aching  heart.  And  strange,  in  the  midst  of  her 
prayers  that  night  arose  a  thought  of  Frangois. 
"  Lord  have  mercy,"  she  again  faltered. 

And  Francois?  Only  his  iron  will  took  him 
safely  through  the  fatigues  of  the  next  few  days. 
After  a  night's  rest  he  had  demanded  that  Adriaen 
should  see  certain  officials  for  him.  "  I  will  receive 


PAPA   LOUIS   TELLS   A   STORY        311 

them  here,"  he  said.  "  You  will  explain  why  I  do 
not  present  myself  in  person.'1 

His  message  was  received  courteously,  and  follow 
ing  Adriaen's  account  of  him  came  a  visit  from  two 
of  the  dignitaries  of  the  place.  The  courage  with 
which  Fran£ois  faced  them,  his  Spartan-like  en 
durance,  and  his  compelling  presence  won  their  at 
tention  and  they  found  themselves  interested,  so 
that  before  they  left  they  had  promised  to  make 
immediate  efforts  to  arrange  for  an  exchange. 

Then  Francois  dismissed  Adriaen.  "  Go  to  your 
sweetheart,"  he  said.  "  I  will  get  you  to  hire  me  a 
man,  and  then  I  will  do.1'  He  took  the  young 
man's  hand  in  his.  "  You  have  been  a  good  friend, 
Adriaen,  and  I  wish  you  all  the  happiness  that  I 
have  missed.  Tell  your  little  Trynje  that  I  thank 
her  for  lending  you  to  me.  I  should  not  have  been 
able  to  get  through  without  you.  And  say  to  her 
that  for  what  I  have  made  her  friend  suffer  I  have 
no  words  in  which  to  ask  forgiveness.  I  remember 
now ;  the  old  priest  said  it :  '  Forgiveness  is  sweeter 
than  revenge.1  I  have  come  to  see  it.  It  was  Alaine 
herself  who  showed  me  that.  Now  get  me  a  good 
man,  and  then  adieu,  Adriaen." 

There  were  real  tears  in  the  young  Dutchman's 
eyes  when  he  finally  took  his  leave  of  his  friend, 
and  after  he  had  gone  Frai^ois,  with  a  deep  sigh, 
shut  his  eyes.  Then  he  set  his  mind  upon  what 
was  to  be  done  next. 

What  it  was  transpired  not  long  after.     For  in 


312  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

exchange  for  a  wounded  Englishman  Francois's 
paralyzed  body  was  sent  on  to  Montreal.  Here  he 
was  not  long  in  setting  his  friends  about  his  business. 
"I  want  to  find,"  he  said,  "a  coureur  de  bois  called 
Ricard  le  Nez.  If  he  cannot  be  found,  then  one 
Edouard  le  Gros  will  do." 

And  in  due  time  it  came  to  pass  that  Jeanne 
Crepin  in  her  lodge  in  the  wilderness  saw  borne 
past  her  door  on  a  rude  stretcher  the  body  of  a 
man.  "  Hold,  Ricard  !"  she  cried  ;  "  whom  have  you 
there?" 

The  bearers  stopped.  "A  man  who  is  all  head 
and  no  body,"  Ricard  replied. 

"  I  will  see  him."  She  came  and  stood  over  the 
man.  "Who  are  you?  What  do  you  here?"  she 
asked. 

"  One  question  at  a  time,  good  sir  or  madam,  I 
know  not  which,"  replied  Frangois.  "  I  am  Fran- 
£ois  Dupont,  or  what  is  left  of  that  once  lively  indi 
vidual." 

"Then  you  are  a  child  of  the  Evil  One,"  returned 
Jeanne. 

"  Softly,  softly,  my  good  sir  or  madam.  May  I 
ask  your  name  in  return  and  how  it  is  that  you  are 
so  well  acquainted  with  the  family  of  Monsieur  le 
Diable  ?  since  the  putting  of  double  questions  seems 
to  be  the  fashion  in  these  parts." 

"I  am  Jeanne  Crepin." 

"Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure."  He  spoke  as  if  searching 
his  memory  for  a  lost  recollection.  "  I  remember,  I 


PAPA   LOUIS   TELLS   A   STORY        31:3 

remember.  Your  brother  was  a  friend  of  mine. 
Father  Bisset  has  perhaps  mentioned  me  to  you. 
No,  I  have  it,  I  have  it.  I  recognize  you  now, 
madam ;  it  was  you  whom  I  saw  during  our  little 
skirmish  over  in  the  English  colony  of  New  York,  as 
they  call  it  now.  I  remember.  So,  so." 

"What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"What  am  I  doing  here?  It  is  not  I  who  can  do 
at  all ;  you  perceive  that  I  am  a  passive  fact.  I 
think,  however,  that  it  would  be  as  well  if  we  were 
to  get  on.  I  would  doff  my  hat  to  you,  madam, 
did  I  wear  one.  As  it  is,  take  my  adieux  in  such 
courteous  manner  as  may  be  best  suited  to  the  occa 
sion,  and  consider  that  I  have  made  my  best  obei 
sance.  Advance,  Ricard." 

Jeanne  took  up  the  line  of  march  with  the  others. 
"  Where  do  you  carry  him  ?"  she  asked. 

"To  the  Indian  village  beyond." 

"  Why  does  he  go  there  ?" 

Ricard  looked  at  her  with  a  sidelong  glance. 
"  You  would  have  to  know  him  to  guess  why.  I 
never  knew  stronger  will  in  weaker  body.  How  he 
has  made  this  journey  is  past  telling.  He  goes  be 
cause  he  has  heard  that  the  young  Dutchman  is 
there." 

"  Ah-h !"  Jeanne  compressed  her  lips  and  walked 
on  in  silence.  From  time  to  time  she  looked  at 
Francois,  whose  eyes  returned  her  glance  with  some 
thing  of  their  old  mischief. 

"I  see,  madam,"  he  said  at  last,  "twenty  ques- 


314  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

tions  have  risen  to  your  lips,  yet  none  are  uttered. 
You  say,  Why  does  he  go  to  the  Indian  village? 
What  does  he  intend  to  do  if  he  discovers  Lendert 
Verplanck  there  ?  How  much  does  he  know  ? 
How  little  does  he  know  ?  What  is  to  be  done  after 
all  ?  and  all  that.  Am  I  right  ?" 

"You  are  right,"  she  returned,  gravely. 

"  Then  I  will  answer  without  further  prelude.  I 
go  to  the  Indian  village  because  there  I  have  heard 
I  will  find  Lendert  Verplanck.  I  wish  to  see  him, 
and  if  possible  to  set  him  free.  And  then  I  have 
really  nothing  more  to  do  in  this  life.  Love  will  do 
the  rest."  He  searched  Jeanne's  face,  over  which  a 
sudden  softness  spread. 

"  Ay,1'  she  said,  "  love  will  do  the  rest,  if  love 
meets  life." 

"  Explain  yourself,  if  you  please." 

"  Lendert  Verplanck  has  been  kept  alive  from  day 
to  day  only  on  sufferance.  At  first  they  would  have 
despatched  him  by  slow  torture  without  hesitation, 
but  some  interfered,  Ricard  and  some  others,  and 
the  Indians  agreed  to  wait  till  they  should  reach  the 
village.  Arriving  there,  he  was  made  to  run  the 
gauntlet,  to  believe  that  each  day  must  be  his  last, 
and  that  the  morrow  would  see  the  fires  of  torture 
kindled  for  him.  But  Petit  Marc  sits  there  watch 
ing.  He  declares  that  once  they  glut  themselves 
with  the  Dutchman's  death,  he,  Petit  Marc,  has 
knowledge  which  will  bring  them  terrible  disaster." 

"  This  is  interesting.    Then  why  do  they  not  de- 


PAPA    LOUIS    TELLS   A   STORY        315 

spatch  Monsieur  Marc  first?  That  would  be  my 
plan." 

Jeanne  smiled  a  little  ironically.  "  They  know 
better,  for  Petit  Marc  has  conveyed  away  one  of 
them  whom  he  holds  as  a  hostage.  They  know 
that  at  a  word  from  this  big  man " 

"Whom  you  call  little " 

"  That  one  of  their  braves  will  suffer  as  they 
would  make  the  man  Verplanck  suffer.  He  knows 
them,  this  Marc.  He  knows  their  ways,  their 
secrets.  He  has  done  them  too  many  favors  for 
them  to  regard  him  lightly.  He  sits  there  a  guard 
over  their  prisoner,  yet  they  will  not  give  up  the 
Dutchman.1' 

"  They  will,  then,"  said  Franfois.  "  Proceed  a 
little  more  rapidly,  Ricard." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  MARK  OF  THE  RED  FEATHER 

INTO  the  company  of  Indians  gathered  around  the 
imperturbable  Marc  and  the  prisoner  suddenly  walked 
Jeanne  Crepin,  whose  coming  was  received  with 
grunts  of  disapproval.  She  had  an  unpleasant  way 
of  appearing  before  these  red  brethren  when  she 
was  least  expected.  They  gave  her  a  certain  re 
spect  and  even  affectionate  admiration,  but  they 
were  not  to  be  balked  by  a  woman  in  their  revenge. 
Lendert's  scalp  was  a  possession  not  to  be  despised, 
and  it  had  required  the  combined  strategy  of  Jeanne 
and  Ricard  to  prevent  its  being  taken  on  that  home 
ward  march.  Jeanne  had  insisted  that  he  was  Ri- 
card's  prisoner  and  had  refused  to  leave  him  while 
Ricard  made  a  hasty  journey  in  search  of  Petit  Marc. 
After  that  Petit  Marc  took  possession. 

"You  quarrel  over  the  man,1'  he  said  to  them. 
"  One  brother  says  he  is  mine,  another  he  is  mine. 
I  am  judge  between  you.  He  is  neither  the  one's 
nor  the  other's.  Ricard  took  him,  as  every  one 
knows,  but  it  was  because  the  Frenchman,  your 
leader,  told  him  to  do  it,  and  therefore  if  he  belongs 
to  any  one  it  is  to  Franfois,  but  he  does  not  belong 
to  him.  He  belongs  to  Yonondio,  and  to  him  he 
must  be  delivered  at  last.  If  the  Frenchman,  Fran- 

316 


gois  Sharp  Eyes,  were  here  he  would  tell  you  so,  but 
he  is  slain  and  he  cannot  deliver  him  up  to  Yononclio. 
Will  Yonondio  protect  you  ?  Will  he  believe  you  to 
be  his  friends  when  you  steal  from  him  his  prison 
ers  ?  Yet  Yonondio  loves  Frangois  Sharp  Eyes,  and 
he  would  give  him  to  him  because  he  is  his.'1 

"  The  Frenchman,  Sharp  Eyes,  is  slain,"  said  an 
old  chief.  "What  is  my  brother  saying?  How 
does  he  expect  that  the  slain  shall  come  and  claim 
his  prisoner?" 

"  Frangois  Sharp  Eyes  is  not  slain,"  returned 
Marc,  racking  his  brain  for  a  device  to  lengthen  the 
time  for  Lendert.  "  Moreover,  my  brothers  forget 
that  there  are  many  who  have  lost  friends  in  this 
war,  and  even  in  this  battle,  therefore  it  is  but  right 
and  according  to  custom  that  this  prisoner  shall  be 
delivered  to  one  who  has  lost  a  friend  in  war.  So 
only  can  the  cloud  be  driven  away  which  hangs  over 
that  one  to  whom  grief  has  come." 

"  My  brother  speaks  what  is  true,"  agreed  the  old 
chief,  "  and  the  prisoner  must  be  given  to  one  who 
has  lost  a  friend  in  this  battle." 

Then  came  a  long  discussion  as  to  who  should 
possess  Lendert,  and  finally  this  matter  was  settled 
by  his  being  handed  over  to  one  Red  Feather. 
Petit  Marc  protested  all  the  while  that  it  was  no 
one's  right  to  kill  the  man,  and  that  the  governor, 
Frontenac,  whom  the  Indians  called  Yonondio, 
would  tell  their  father,  the  King  of  France,  and  that 
he  would  be  very  angry  that  they  had  kept  any  pris- 


318  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

oner  from  him.  Nevertheless,  every  now  and  then 
murmurs  arose,  and  the  life  of  Lendert  hung  in  the 
balance  whenever  news  of  a  raid  from  the  Iroquois 
aroused  a  new  desire  for  revenge  in  Lendert's  cap 
tors. 

At  last  came  the  word  that  a  bloody  skirmish  had 
taken  place  and  that  here  was  new  cause  for  mal 
treatment  of  this  representative  of  the  enemy.  En 
couraged  by  Petit  Marc,  Lendert  bore  himself  stoically 
while  the  wily  Marc  cast  about  for  a  reason  to  delay 
the  expected  torture.  Bound  to  a  tree  and  hope 
lessly  waiting  the  pleasure  of  his  tormentors,  Len 
dert  lay  when  Jeanne  appeared. 

"  To  whom  do  you  say  this  man  belongs  ?"  she 
asked,  at  the  same  time  touching  him  contemptu 
ously  with  the  toe  of  her  moccasin.  "  You  say  he 
is  Red  Feather's.  I  say  he  is  not.  I  say  that  no 
one  but  Francois  Sharp  Eyes  has  a  right  to  him." 

"Wah!"  grunted  the  old  chief,  "the  Man- Wife 
has  been  drinking  the  new  sap  of  the  fever-tree  and 
it  has  touched  her  brain.  Do  dead  bodies  desire  to 
take  away  prisoners  from  the  living?" 

Jeanne  tossed  up  her  chin.  "  No,  but  the  living 
have  a  right  to  their  own.  See,  my  brothers,  Fran 
cois  Sharp  Eyes  is  here."  With  a  wave  of  her  hand 
she  indicated  the  approach  of  Ricard  and  Edouard 
with  their  burden. 

"And  not  a  minute  too  soon,"  growled  Petit 
Marc.  "  It  was  getting  to  be  close  quarters  for 
him." 


THE   MARK   OF   THE   RED    FEATHER     319. 

Even  the  most  impassive  of  the  redskins  stared  to 
see  the  white  face  of  Francois  appear.  Lendert 
struggled  in  his  bonds  and  glared  at  this  unexpected 
presence. 

"Where  is  the  prisoner?"  asked  Frangois. 
"Place  me  near  him."  He  was  laid  under  the  tree 
where  Lendert  was  bound. 

"  You  see  me,  my  brothers,"  Francois  began. 
"  You  ask  if  a  dead  body  desires  to  take  possession 
of  a  living  one.  Behold  a  dead  body,  this  one  of 
mine.  As  the  chill  of  winter  creeps  farther  and 
farther  from  the  north,  so  over  this  body  of  mine 
creeps  the  chill  of  death ;  and  who  has  caused  this 
to  happen  ?  The  same  enemy  who  has  robbed  Red 
Feather  of  his  son.  Am  I  not  worse  off  than  Red 
Feather?  He  has  another  son,  two  or  three  of 
them.  I  have  but  my  one  body  and  it  is  worse  than 
useless ;  only  a  frame  to  fasten  this  head  upon. 
Was  it  not  I  who  led  you  against  the  English? 
Said  I  not,  We  will  have  revenge  for  those  indig 
nities  of  the  English  and  the  Dutch  and  the  Iro- 
quois  ?  You  have  come  home  in  safety ;  I  have 
been  all  these  months  a  prisoner ;  and  look  at  me. 
Who  shall  say  that  I  should  not  have  body  for 
body?" 

The  Indians  listened  solemnly.  Then  one  spoke 
up.  "  Our  brother  speaks  well,  but  he  has  still  his 
head.  We  will  give  him  the  body  of  the  white 
man  and  we  will  take  the  head." 

This  was  received  with  much  approval  by  the  rest 


320  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

of  the  Indians,  and  Petit  Marc  gave  a  short  laugh. 
The  grim  humor  of  the  speech  struck  him.  "  They 
have  you  there,"  he  said  aside  to  Francois. 

"  Pah  !"  Franfois  raised  his  hand.  "  Of  what 
use  is  a  body  which  cannot  move  ?  And  if  you  de 
prive  me  of  the  head,  how,  then,  can  the  body  move 
for  me  ?  My  living  body  has  been  taken ;  for  it  I 
demand  a  living  body  in  return.  This  is  what 
Yonondio  would  accord  me.  Call  the  head  yours  if 
you  wish.  I  am  willing,  but  how  will  it  serve  me 
to  have  two  useless  bodies?  My  brothers  mock 
me ;  they  wrish  to  double  my  burdens  by  giving  me 
two  loads  to  carry,  as  if  one  were  not  enough.  Who 
will  be  feet  for  my  feet,  legs  for  my  legs  ?  Who  will 
run  for  me  if  I  have  not  these  living  legs  to  do 
my  will  ?  And  what  will  Yonondio  say  when  I  tell 
him,  They  have  given  me  a  dead  man  to  bring  to 
you  as  a  prisoner?" 

This  was  another  matter  for  consideration,  but 
the  decision  was  not  repealed.  "  The  head  is  Red 
Feather's,  the  body  belongs  to  Francois  Sharp  Eyes. 
If  Fran£ois  takes  away  the  head  which  is  Red 
Feather's,  how,  then,  will  any  one  know  that  it  be 
longs  to  his  brother?" 

It  was  Franfois  who  solved  the  difficulty.  "  It 
will  not  be  so  bad  as  it  might  be,  and  it  is  that  or  his 
head,"  he  said  in  an  undertone  to  Petit  Marc. 
"Francois  Sharp  Eyes,  your  brother,  will  tell  you 
what  to  do,"  he  went  on  to  say.  "  Let  Red  Feather 
put  his  mark  upon  the  man  ;  let  him  brand  him  upon 


THE   MARK   OF   THE   RED   FEATHER     321 

the  check,  so  will  all  know  that  it  is  the  head  of  Red 
Feather  though  the  body  follow  Francois." 

The  old  chief  nodded  approval.  "  Our  brother 
speaks  with  wisdom ;  it  shall  be  as  he  desires. 
Yonondio  will  then  perceive  that  we  have  done  as 
he  would  command,  and  it  will  be  a  sign  to  him  that 
the  man  was  in  our  hands  but  that  we  desire  to 
please  our  father,  and  that  we  have  delivered  the 
prisoner  to  Francois." 

Finding  that  they  were  not  to  be  deprived  of  all 
entertainment,  the  company  proceeded,  with  much 
ceremony,  to  see  to  it  that  upon  Lendert's  cheek  was 
branded  a  queer,  small  red  feather.  Then  followed 
a  feast  and  much  powwowing,  and  at  last  Lendert 
was  free. 

As  he  faced  his  old  enemy  he  felt  that  he  would 
almost  rather  have  suffered  greater  torture  than  to 
be  handed  over  to  this  man.  What  further  diaboli 
cal  intention  had  he,  who  was  mighty  even  in  his 
helplessness?  He  had  not  opened  his  lips  during 
all  this  ceremony,  not  even  to  ask  word  of  his 
friends,  of  Alaine,  whom  Jeanne  had  left  lying  on 
the  ground  in  feigned  mortal  hurt.  Nor  did  he 
speak  when  his  stiffened  and  cramped  limbs  followed 
the  litter  to  Jeanne's  lodge.  Jeanne  tramped  along 
by  his  side,  but  turned  her  talk  to  Petit  Marc,  for 
she  saw  that  Lendert  was  in  no  mood  for  conversa 
tion.  It  was  only  when  they  were  arrived  at  her 
door  that  she  turned  to  Francois  and  said,  "And 
Alaine,  what  of  her?" 

21 


322  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  To-day  she  is  with  her  friends,'1  Frangois  told 
her.  "She  is  in  New  Rochelle,  poor  little  soul." 
He  turned  his  eyes  upon  Lendert.  "  Come  here,  if 
you  please,  my  friend.  I  have  done  you  and  Made 
moiselle  Hervieu  much  wrong.  I  do  not  knowT  why 
I  disliked  you  ;  probably  because  you  are  Dutch  and 
the  enemy  of  my  country,  and  because  you  came 
between  me  and  my  revenge.  She  will  tell  you  all, 
for  I  send  you  to  her.  I  am  not  going  to  live,  and  I 
made  this  journey  to  attain  this  object,  to  find  you. 
I  send  you  back  to  her  you  love  and  to  her  I  have 
wronged.  I  believe  she  will  forgive  me.  I  know 
what  a  great  love  is,  and  I  respect  yours.  Go  with 
it  to  Mademoiselle  Hervieu  and  say,  I  am  Frangois 
Dupont's  gift  to  you.  I  love  you  so  deeply  that  I 
can  even  endure  it  that  he  whom  I  hate  has  been 
the  means  of  liberating  me  and  that  it  is  from  his 
hands  that  you  receive  me  back  to  your  heart.  I 
do  not  ask  your  forgiveness,  Lendert  Verplanck ; 
only  angels  can  forgive  utterly,  and  it  is  an  angel  who 
waits  for  you  there  in  New  Rochelle." 

"  I  thank  you,  mynheer,"  said  Lendert,  brokenly. 
"God  knows  I  love  her." 

"  And  you  will  marry  her.  Yes,  I  know.  I  have 
heard  it  all  from  the  lips  of  that  little  Trynje  and 
from  her  good  mother  and  her  better  lover."  His 
eyes  softened  as  he  spoke  of  Adriaen.  "  Good  boy  ! 
good  boy !  I  love  that  lad,"  he  said,  thoughtfully. 
"  I  know  your  mother's  feeling,  but  you  will  say  to 
her  that  the  man  who  gave  up  his  revenge  and  his 


THE   MARK   OF   THE   RED   FEATHER     323 

will  that  he  might  go  out  of  the  world  worthy  of  one 

who  waits  for  him  up  there "     He  gave  a  quick, 

short  sigh.  "  I  believe  that !  I  believe  that !"  he 
said,  passionately.  "  She  waits  for  me.  Well,  then, 
say  to  your  mother  this  man,  half  dead,  took  his 
poor  body  over  hill  and  dale,  through  forest  and 
down-stream,  that  he  might  right  a  wrong,  and  he 
gives  you  back  your  son,  but  in  return  he  asks  that 
you  do  not  stand  between  him  and  happiness.  This 
man,  Francois  Dupont,  you  will  tell  her  what  be 
came  of  his  strong  will,  and  how  Heaven  treated 
him  for  his  vainglory  and  stubbornness.  I  am  not 
good  ;  I  am  not  religious,  not  I,  but  I  know  when  I 
am  beaten,  and  I  can  recognize  the  stroke  when  it 
comes.  I  am  so  near  death  that  I  can  see  the  mean 
ing  of  things.  You  will  tell  her  of  me  and  of  what  I 
say.  Yet,  because  even  then,  in  her  strength  and  her 
power  of  health,  she  still  refuses,  there  is  something 
else.  It  will  be  told  you  in  good  time.  Now,  boys, 
we  rest  here  for  to-night,  and  to-morrow  take  me  on 
to  Quebec.  I  wish  to  die  under  the  flag  which 
wraved  above  me  when  I  fought  there  upon  the  heights 
of  Quebec.  I  shall  live  to  get  there, — I  shall  do 
that.  You  will  take  me,  Ricard,  and  you,  Edouard, 
and  Toito,  my  man  ?  So  now,  you,  M.  Verplanck, 
must  have  safe  escort  to  the  other  side  of  the  river, 
and  then  you  can  go  on." 

Lendert  bowed  his  head  in  assent.  He  had  not 
even  words  now  for  this  strange  man,  whose  devo 
tion  to  a  purpose  rose  above  his  egotism  and  ambi- 


324  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

tions.  But  the  young  Dutchman  carried  all  this  in 
his  heart,  and  when  the  next  morning  he  saw  Fran- 
gois  placed  in  the  canoe  which  was  to  bear  him  upon 
his  last  journey  before  he  should  enter  that  darker 
river,  the  feeling  of  angry  resentment,  of  hatred  and 
revenge,  gave  way.  It  had  been  slowly  growing  less 
and  less  ever  since  the  hour  when  he  was  freed,  and 
he  leaned  over  from  the  side  of  his  own  canoe  to 
touch  the  hand  of  Frangois,  not  now  in  anger  nor 
in  assault,  but  in  pity  and  gratitude. 

"  Mynheer  Dupont,"  he  said,  "  you  told  me  that 
Mademoiselle  Hervieu  would  forgive  you,  that  it  was 
an  angel  I  should  find  when  I  return.  Then,  I  can 
not  go  to  her  with  a  black  heart,  and  if  I  am  your  gift 
to  her,  one  does  not  give  angels  as  worthless  a  thing 
as  a  man  who  hates  his  deliverer.  And  so,  myn 
heer,  if  you  wish  my  forgiveness,  here  it  is,  and  if 
you  have  aught  against  me,  I  pray  you,  in  turn,  let 
me  ask  your  pardon  for  it." 

Francois  turned  his  feverishly  bright  eyes  upon 
him.  "Head  of  Red  Feather  and  body  that  is 
mine,"  he  said,  with  a  whimsical  smile,  "you  are 
of  no  account  at  all  beside  the  heart  which  is 
Alaine  Hervieu's,  and  which  is  great  enough  to 
do  this.  Will  you  bend  your  head  closer,  mon 
sieur?" 

Lendert  obeyed,  and  Frangois  touched  his  lips  to 
the  burning  mark,  which  stood  out  red  and  inflamed, 
even  though  Jeanne's  soothing  applications  had  taken 
away  the  worst  of  its  fire.  "  When  you  go  to  Alaine, 


THE   MARK   OF   THE   RED    FEATHER     325 

tell  her  so  I  have  dedicated  this  mark  and  bear  her 
my  long  farewell.1' 

The  canoes  drifted  apart,  one  going  up  stream, 
the  other  down,  and  to  those  who  had  best  known 
him,  who  had  suffered  with  and  by  him,  whose  fear 
had  been  turned  into  compassion,  Frangois  Dupont 
became  but  a  memory,  yet  from  the  memory  at 
last  all  bitterness  vanished,  and  he  was  remembered 
as  one  to  whom  reverence  and  gratitude  were 
due. 

The  long  and  wearisome  journey  made  by  Len- 
dert  at  last  brought  him  to  the  house  from  which  he 
had  lately  been  cast  out.  But  here  was  no  mother 
to  welcome  him  or  to  upbraid  him,  for  Madam  De 
Vries  had  gone  to  New  York  after  Trynje's  wedding. 
She  felt  a  miserable  satisfaction  in  nursing  her  re 
sentment  towards  Alaine,  yet  was  of  a  dozen  minds 
about  her.  Trynje  was  no  longer  to  be  treated  as  a 
daughter,  and  the  one  whom  her  son  had  loved 
ought  rightly  to  have  taken  her  place.  This  Madam 
conceded  to  herself,  but  grew  hot  and  angry  at  the 
thought,  and  so  at  last  she  shut  herself  away  from 
her  friends  and  brooded  over  it  all.  As  day  after 
day  passed  and  the  hopelessness  of  ever  seeing 
Lendert  again  came  over  her,  she  grew  more  and 
more  bitter,  outwardly,  and  more  and  more  yielding, 
inwardly,  so  that  if,  at  certain  moments,  Alaine  had 
appeared,  she  would  have  wept  with  her  and  have 
taken  her  to  her  heart.  A  dozen  times  she  started 
to  make  the  journey  to  New  Rochelle,  where  she 


326  BECAUSE    OF    CONSCIENCE 

knew  Alaine  to  be,  and  as  often  she  fell  back  in  her 
chair,  a  slave  to  her  obstinacy  and  self-pity. 

It  was  one  morning,  six  months  after  the  events 
of  the  day,  which  it  seemed  to  Madam  De  Vries 
must  always  pass  in  procession  before  her  upon  her 
first  waking,  that  she  suddenly  decided  to  return  to 
her  home.  I  cannot  escape  it  wherever  I  go,"  she 
moaned  ;  "  I  am  idle  here,  and  I  brood  too  much.  I 
will  go  to  work.  I  will  change  everything ;  I  will 
busy  myself  doing  that.  I  will  have  nothing  as  it 
used  to  be,  and  so  in  time  I  may  be  able  to  live  in  a 
measure  contented." 

And  thus  it  happened  that  the  canoe  bearing  Len- 
dert  to  New  York  passed  the  spot  where  his  mother 
was  resting  overnight  upon  her  homeward  journey. 

While  Lendert  was  proceeding  on  his  way  some 
one  else  was  nearing  New  York  with  hope  and  long 
ing.  M.  Theodore  Hervieu,  late  engage  upon  the 
island  of  Dominica,  was  free  at  last  and  was  now  in 
possession  of  the  knowledge  of  his  daughter's  where 
abouts.  These  facts  had  come  to  him  in  that  peculiar 
way  which  gives  credence  to  the  saying  that  truth  is 
stranger  than  fiction.  He  had  not  fared  badly,  when 
all  is  told,  for  he  was  fortunate  in  falling  into  the 
hands  of  a  compassionate  master,  who  gave  him  such 
liberty  as  was  his  due  and  set  him  about  tasks  which 
were  not  heavy.  It  was,  however,  not  upon  the 
island  of  Guadaloupa,  but  upon  St.  Domingo,  that 
he  was  landed,  and  having  been  shipped  under  a 
name  differing  somewhat  from  his  own,  he  was  not 


THE   MARK   OF   THE   RED    FEATHER     327 

discovered  by  those  who  had  gone  in  search  of  him, 
remaining  himself  all  the  while  ignorant  of  what  had 
become  of  his  daughter.  Letters  sent  to  France 
assured  him  that  she  had  fled  the  country  ;  letters 
sent  to  England  remained  unanswered,  therefore  in 
patience  possessing  his  soul  M.  Hervieu  waited  till 
an  event  occurred  which  turned  the  tide  of  his 
affairs. 

One  morning  from  a  high  rock  upon  the  coast  of 
Guadaloupa  there  might  have  been  seen  dangling  a 
rope,  and  from  it  swung  a  man,  looking  below  him 
to  make  sure  of  how  far  he  might  drop  if  he  let  go. 
Presently  the  rope  swung  free  of  its  burden,  and  the 
man,  limping  a  little,  ran  along  the  shore  and  was 
not  long  in  reaching  a  small  boat,  which  immediately 
set  out  for  the  neighboring  island  of  Dominica. 
After  six  months  of  miserable  bondage  Pierre  Bou- 
tillier  had  a  second  time  escaped,  and  as  fate  would 
have  it,  he  found  himself  received  upon  the  planta 
tion  of  one  Madame  Valleau,  and  was  taken  into 
that  lady's  presence  by  her  secretary,  whom  she  ad 
dressed  as  M.  Hervet. 

The  pitiful  condition  of  the  escaped  man  excited 
Madame's  pity  as  she  directed  that  he  be  given  the 
best  that  the  place  could  afford,  and  herself  invited 
him  to  be  her  guest  at  dinner. 

Madame  Valleau  had  been  a  widow  a  little  over 
two  years.  She  was  young  and  bewitching,  and 
having  married  an  elderly  man  who  seemed  more 
like  a  father  than  a  husband  to  her,  she  was  ready 


328  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

to  fall  in  love  when  the  proper  person  should  pre 
sent  himself,  and  this  happened  to  be  Pierre  Boutil- 
lier,  for,  as  did  Desdemona,  "she  loved  him  for  the 
dangers  he  had  passed,"  and  found  in  him  a  hero 
whom  fate  had  cast  at  her  feet. 

Pierre  had  not  been  under  her  roof  a  week  when 
she  began  to  reproach  him  for  his  melancholy. 
"  Thy  grave  and  sombre  face  needs  a  different  medi 
cine  to  alter  its  expression  from  that  I  have  to  offer," 
she  said  one  day.  "  M.  Hervet,  there,  for  all  he  has 
a  missing  daughter  somewhere  in  the  world,  does 
not  look  so  melancholy.  Who  is  it  you  have  left 
behind?"  She  gave  a  coquettish  glance  at  the  un 
responsive  Pierre,  who  shook  his  head. 

"  No  kin  of  mine  waits  for  me  anywhere,  for  all 
perished  under  the  hand  of  persecution  in  France." 

Madame  Felice  Valleau  tapped  her  foot  reflectively. 
"  And  that  is  why  you  do  not  approve  of  me,  I  sup 
pose.  I  am  not  Protestant." 

"  I  never  said,  madame,  that  I  did  not  approve  of 
you.  Who  am  I  that  I  should  abuse  your  bounty 
by  vilifying  you?  Yet,  I  would  you  were  Prot 
estant." 

"  And  suppose  I  were,  then  would  I  see  you 
smile  ?" 

"Without  doubt  I  should  smile  that  Providence 
had  brought  me  into  such  a  favorable  haven  of 
refuge." 

"  Then  turn  your  head  this  way.  I  am  Protes 
tant  and  M.  Hervet  knows  it.  It  was  not  my  hus- 


THE  MARK  OF  THE  RED  FEATHER  329 

band's  belief,  but  he  did  not  cross  me  in  it,  and  he 
was  always  kind  to  those  of  my  faith.  It  was  his 
way  to  say  that  each  man  was  accountable  to  his 
own  conscience  for  his  faith,  and  he  had  no  right  to 
persecute  others  for  thinking  the  same.  He  took  M. 
Hervet  into  his  employ,  knowing  him  to  be  a  Hu 
guenot,  but  seeing  him  a  gentleman  and  a  good  man 
of  business.  He  finally  made  him  his  secretary,  in 
which  office  in  this  house  he  still  continues,  though 
he  is  still  an  engage,  and  it  will  be  some  time  before 
he  can  have  his  freedom.  I  think  he  will  likely  wish 
to  remain  here  if  he  can  realize  something  from  the 
estates  he  left  in  France.  There  is  a  secret  about 
that  too,  which  I  will  tell  you  some  day.  There  are 
not  bad  opportunities  in  this  place  for  one  who  has 
M.  Hervet's  ability,  and  I  think  he  will  do  well  to 
remain.  But  now  let  us  return  to  our  former  sub 
ject.  I  see  no  reason  for  your  melancholy,  for  I 
assure  you  that  I  shall  treat  you  well/' 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  madame,  and  as  for  my  grave 
manner,  one  who  has  suffered  much  cannot  at  once 
assume  the  gayety  of  those  always  free  from  care." 

The  tears  came  to  the  eyes  of  Madame  Valleau. 
"  It  shall  be  my  dearest  privilege  to  drive  that  gloom 
away  from  one  who  has  borne  so  much  for  the  sake 
of  my  religion.  Tell  me  again  of  that  wild  escape 
of  yours.  And  why  did  you  return  when  once  you 
had  freed  yourself?  I  can  never  wring  from  you 
why  you  did  that.  Can  you  not  tell  me?"  She 
looked  at  him  with  melting  dark  eyes  and  laid  her 


330  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

soft  warm  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  Tell  me,"  she  said 
in  a  beseeching  voice. 

Pierre  hesitated.  He  felt  the  woman's  witchery, 
and  told  himself  that  there  was  not  any  reason  why 
he  should  not  confess  that  his  was  a  mission  of  love, 
a  sacrifice  because  of  his  devotion  to  Alaine.  Yet 
he  hesitated.  After  a  pause,  in  which  the  silken 
garments  of  the  pretty  widow  swept  his  feet  and 
the  entreaty  in  her  eyes  deepened,  he  said,  slowly, 
"  I  returned  that  I  might  seek  and  liberate  some  one 
who,  like  myself,  had  been  sent  into  slavery." 

"  He  must  have  been  very  dear  to  you." 

"  I  never  saw  him." 

"  What !"  Felice  Valleau  leaned  nearer.  "  Then 
it  was  for  a  woman  you  did  it.  Who  is  she  ?  Tell 
me.  Who  is  she?" 

"  Her  name  is  Alaine  Hervieu,"  Pierre  answered 
in  response  to  an  irresistible  impulse. 

"  Alaine  Hervieu  !"  Felice  screamed.  Then  a  little 
light  laugh  rippled  from  her  red  lips.  "  Very  well, 
then,  you  have  come  to  the  right  place.  I  can  find 

him  for  you.  But  first No,  no,"  as  Pierre's 

eager  questions  leaped  to  his  lips.  "  No,  not  yet. 
Do  you  love  this  Alaine  Hervieu  madly?  Would 
life  be  a  blank  without  her?" 

Pierre  was  silent. 

"Does  she  love  you?" 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  did  not  demand  that  she 
should  tell  me.  She  made  no  promise.  I  would 
not  allow  that,  but  it  was  that  if  her  father  desired, 


THE   MARK    OF   THE    RED    FEATHER     331 

she  would  marry  me  when  I  returned  with 
him." 

Madame  laughed  again,  and  then  leaned  forward, 
her  chin  resting  in  one  dainty  palm,  her  soft  round  arm 
almost  touching  Pierre  as  he  sat  by  her  side.  After 
a  silence  she  looked  at  him  with  alluring,  velvety 
eyes.  "  She  does  not  love  you.  No,  she  does  not. 
She  would  never  have  allowed  you  to  leave  her  if 
she  had.  She  would  have  flung  herself  into  your 
arms  and  have  implored  you  to  stay.  No,  no." 

"  She  did  beg  me  not." 

"  But  she  did  not  do  so  with  tears  and  sighs  and 
kisses,  with  her  heart  in  her  eyes.  She  thought  of 
her  father  first." 

"Ye-es."     The  answer  came  reluctantly. 

"Then,  I  repeat,  she  does  not  love  you  as  you 
loved  her.  Why  must  you  love  her,  Monsieur 
Pierre  ?  By  this  time  she  has  forgotten  you." 

"  No  ;  she  will  wait  till  the  year  is  out." 

"And  will  then  marry  some  one  else?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"  And  when  is  the  year  up  ?" 

"  In  three  months." 

"  Then,  in  that  time  she  shall  see  her  father,  if — 
if Listen,  monsieur.  If  I  let  him  go  I  shall  de 
mand  the  sacrifice  you  were  willing  to  make.  You 
were  willing  to  give  yourself  for  him.  Then  I  shall 
demand  the  exchange.  You  will  do  this  willingly?" 

"  Give  myself  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes."     Felice  arose.     She  looked  down  at  him 


332  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

with  a  soft  luminous  expression.  "  Pierre,  would  it 
be  such  a  sorry  lot  to  remain  with  me  ?  Could  I 
not  make  you  happy  ?  This  girl  does  not  love  you. 
I  repeat  it.  In  your  heart  you  do  not  feel  that  she 
does,  and  will  you  force  her  to  marry  you  because 
her  father  may  demand  it?" 

"A  thousand  times  no." 

"  And  if,  after  you  had  gone  back,  you  were  to 
find  that  she  loved  some  one,  else  would  it  not  be 
harder  then  to  give  her  up,  who  now  is  but  a 
dream  ?" 

"  It  would  be  harder." 

u  Then You  are  very  humble,  too  humble, 

Pierre  Boutillier;  many  men  have  sued  on  their 
knees  for  what  is  yours  on  your  own  conditions.  I 
give  you  M.  Theodore  Hervieu,  my  secretary,  and 
you  give  yourself  to  me." 

"M.  Hervet?" 

"The  same." 

Pierre  too  had  arisen  and  was  looking  down  at 
the  graceful  figure  clad  in  its  filmy  silken  robes. 
"And  if  I  do  not,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  and  pressing 
his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"  Then  I  refuse  to  give  up  my  slave,  the  man 
Thomas  Hervet."  She  drew  herself  away  a  few 
steps.  "  You  are  very  hard,  very  unresponsive,  very 
ungrateful,  Pierre  Boutillier.  I  do  not  wonder  that 
Alaine  did  not  love  you." 

Pierre  removed  his  hand  from  his  eyes.  He  saw 
that  there  were  tears  standing  in  the  soft  eyes  and 


THE   MARK   OF   THE   RED   FEATHER     333 

that  the  bewitching  red  lips  were  quivering  like  a 
hurt  child's.  He  made  a  step  forward.  "  Madame,1' 
he  hastened  to  say,  "  I  accept.  I  offer  you  this 
poor,  heavy-eyed,  ungainly  Pierre  Boutillier  in  ex 
change  for  Theodore  Hervieu.  I  am  yours,  madame, 
do  as  you  will  with  me."  He  knelt  at  her  feet. 

Felice  bent  over  and  kissed  him  gently  on  the 
head.  "I  would  make  you  my  slave,"  she  said, 
softly.  "  And  as  for  myself,  take  my  hands ;  they  are 
your  willing  servitors  :  take  my  heart ;  it  is  in  chains 
that  you  have  forged." 

And  so  it  happened  that  Pierre  Boutillier  became 
the  head  of  a  large  estate,  and  the  husband  of  the 
pretty  widow  of  Eugene  Valleau. 

M.  Hervieu's  surprise  came  not  in  the  news  of  the 
approaching  marriage,  but  in  the  stranger  fact  that 
here  was  one  who  knew  his  daughter  and  who  had 
come  in  search  of  him.  "  But  I  am  still  an  engage," 
he  said,  "and  I  have  no  money  for  my  passage  to 
Manhatte." 

"  You  are  not  an  engage",  and  you  are  not  penni 
less,"  Felice  told  him.  "  M.  Valleau  believed  that  it 
would  be  better  for  you  to  serve  out  your  time  here, 
thinking  it  would  not  be  altogether  disagreeable  to 
you." 

"It  has  been  far  otherwise.  Your  kindness  and 
that  of  M.  Valleau  give  me  no  unhappy  recollection 
of  my  bondage,"  he  answered. 

"  Before  my  husband  died,"  Madame  Valleau  told 
him,  "  he  gave  me  this,"  she  handed  him  a  paper, 


334  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"and  told  me  that  if  ever  you  should  wish  to  leave 
me,  and  it  seemed  advisable  that  you  should  do  so, 
that  you  were  to  receive  from  my  hands  the  amount 
brought  by  the  sale  of  certain  estates  of  yours  in 
France,  put  up  for  sale  and  purchased  by  him  for 
you.  By  his  will  he  leaves  that  to  you.  '  It  is  not  a 
great  gift,'  he  said,  '  but  it  will  start  our  friend  again 
in  some  good  enterprise  when  he  is  ready  to  take 
his  place  with  his  friends  in  another  country.  He 
has  served  me  well  for  no  wages,  and  I  am  doing 
only  what  is  just  in  requiting  for  his  services.' ' 

"  Madame  !"  M.  Hervieu  was  overcome,  and  could 
only  murmur  some  unintelligible  words  of  thanks. 

"Therefore,"  continued  Felice,  "if  you  will  kindly 
remain  with  me  until  I  am  married,  I  will  wish  you 
God-speed.  And  will  you  please  ask  your  daughter 
to  write  to  me  and  send  it  by  a  safe  hand,  and  will 
you  give  her  this  little  packet?" 

M.  Hervieu  promised,  and  two  weeks  later  he 
left  the  island  of  St.  Domingo,  and  set  sail  for  the 
colony  of  New  Netherlands,  then  beginning  to  be 
known  as  New  York. 

"  This  is  a  better  voyage  than  the  last  I  made,"  he 
said  to  the  captain  of  the  ship  in  which  he  had  taken 
passage;  "in  that  I,  with  fifty  others,  was  wedged 
into  a  space  scarce  big  enough  for  a  breath." 

The  good  Dutchman  looked  his  sympathy  ;  he  had 
taken  on  this  passenger  who  was  willing  to  pay 
his  way,  and  the  thrifty  man  did  not  despise  the 
money,  though  his  was  but  a  small  merchantman. 


THE   MARK   OF   THE   RED    FEATHER     335 

He  was  making  the  return  trip  to  Now  York  and 
had  seen  something  of  the  life  of  the  engage.  "  You 
vas  locky  to  get  owet  alretty,"  he  remarked. 

M.  Hervieu  drew  a  long,  free  breath.  It  was  good 
to  take  in  the  air  of  absolute  liberty  once  more. 

"  Vat  you  vas  calt?'1  asked  the  skipper.  He  must 
converse  in  English  with  this  passenger  who  knew 
only  a  little  of  that  language  and  French. 

"  I  am  called  Theodore  Hervieu  now,"  was  the 
reply. 

The  skipper  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and 
stared  at  his  companion.  u  Py  tarn  !"  he  exclaimed. 
And  then  he  lapsed  into  a  silence  from  which  no 
remark  of  M.  Hervieu  aroused  him  for  half  an  hour. 


CHAPTER    XX 

MATHILDE'S  TABLEAUX 

MATHILDE  was  in  a  flutter  of  excitement.  For  the 
first  time  since  her  marriage  she  meant  to  give  an 
entertainment  to  her  friends.  Small  evening  com 
panies  were  quite  a  usual  thing  among  the  lively 
French  emigrants,  and  an  excuse  to  entertain  one's 
friends  was  seldom  wanting.  Alaine  had  declared 
that  she  had  no  heart  to  dance,  but  Mathilde  had  a 
fertile  brain  ;  there  should  be  something  else.  She, 
so  deft  with  brush  and  needle,  would  arrange  some 
tableaux.  These  would  help  to  occupy  Alaine  and 
give  her  something  new  to  think  about.  She  had 
been  under  such  a  nervous  strain  and  needed  diver 
sion.  Mathilde  quite  appreciated  Michelle's  con 
cern  ;  they  must  rouse  this  triste  Alaine.  Life  was 
sad  enough  at  best,  why  not  try  to  put  some  joy  into 
it  ?  Therefore  Mathilde  flitted  about  like  some  small 
bright-eyed  bird,  singing  as  she  worked.  Her  slim, 
clever  little  fingers  gave  a  twist  to  this,  a  touch  to 
that,  and  lo,  an  artistic  result. 

"You  are  far  more  clever  than  I,"  Alaine  would 
say,  admiringly,  "  and  yet  I  thought  myself  not  defi 
cient  in  embroidery  and  flower-painting.  The  sisters 
used  to  say  I  was  an  industrious  pupil.  Those 

336 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  337 

lovely  laces,  Mathilde,  where  did  you  get  them  ?  And 
those  muslins,  so  beautiful  they  are.1' 

"They  are  what  remain  of  my  mother's  ward 
robe,"  Mathilde  told  her,  fingering  the  stuffs  lovingly. 
"  You  shall  wear  this  in  the  bower  of  roses  which 
I  mean  for  the  rose  maiden." 

Alaine  gave  a  little  joyless  laugh.  "I,  a  rose 
maiden?  No,  no,  do  not  press  me  into  any  such 
service ;  rather  am  I  a  weeping  Niobe,  a  desolate 
Mara." 

Mathilde's  fingers  flew  back  and  forth  as  she 
sewed  some  strips  together.  u  And  you  were  once 
such  a  happy  girl,  Alaine.  If  Pierre  should  return 
in  time  you  might  find  happiness  with  him,  he  is  so 
good  and  true.  See  how  dark  it  looked  to  me  at 
one  time." 

"  Pierre  ?" 

"  Yes.     Gerard  has  told  me  why  he  went.1' 

Alaine  let  her  hands  lie  idle  in  her  lap  for  a  mo 
ment  and  looked  mournfully  out  of  the  window. 
The  year  was  past,  but  there  was  no  Pierre  to  claim 
her,  and  no  Lendert  to  step  in  between  her  and 
duty.  "  In  what  strange  ways  are  our  doings 
ordered,1'  she  said,  gravely.  uWe  mourn  and  sigh 
and  fret  over  the  difficulties  in  our  pathway,  and 
before  we  know  it  some  convulsion  of  nature  has 
removed  them  and  we  walk  for  evermore  through  a 
twilight  world  in  which  no  stumbling  is  possible. 
With  the  danger  we  lose  the  light." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  the  morning  still  to  come,11  re- 

22 


338  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

turned  Mathilde,  cheerily.  "  Here  comes  Mere  Mi 
chelle  ;  I  will  leave  you  for  a  little,  I  have  forgotten 
something  that  I  should  have  brought  from  my 
uncle's.  We  shall  need  it  for  our  tableaux  to 
night." 

It  was  a  full  hour  before  she  returned  all  in  a 
flutter.  She  sought  Mere  Michelle.  There  were 
whispers,  chatterings,  screams  of  astonishment,  fall 
ing  almost  without  notice  upon  Alaine's  dull  ears. 
Mathilde  did  love  surprises ;  she  had  some  new 
scheme  afoot  for  the  night's  entertainment.  But  the 
girl  did  arouse  to  a  sense  of  more  important  things 
being  in  prospect  when  Michelle,  with  much  mys 
tery,  came  and  clasped  her  in  her  arms. 

"  Prepare  yourself,  my  Alainette ;  this  day  will 
have  a  happy  ending  for  you.  Sorrow  endureth  for 
a  night,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  morning." 

"What  is  it?     What  is  it?"  Alaine  asked,  faintly. 

"  We  have  heard  from  Pierre." 

"  Ah-h  !"     Alaine  started.     "  He  is  coming?" 

"No,  not  he.     Some  one  in  his  stead." 

"  My  father !"  Alaine  clasped  her  hands  over  her 
heart,  and  again  Michelle  fell  upon  her  neck  with 
tears  and  kisses  and  murmuring  words  of  love. 

"  When  will  he  come  ?"  Alaine  asked.  "  It  is  not 
a  false  report  ?  You  are  sure,  Michelle  ?" 

"The  letter  arrived  to-day;  it  was  written  hur 
riedly,  and  is  only  a  line  :  '  M.  Hervieu  is  discovered. 
He  will  set  out  as  soon  as  possible  for  Manhatte.  I 
remain  here.'  That  was  all." 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  339 

"  Poor  Pierre  !"  sighed  Alaine,  "  he  has  condemned 
himself  to  a  life  of  slavery,  I  fear.  Poor  Pierre ! 
There  must  be  a  drop  of  bitterness  even  in  this  cup, 
Michelle." 

"  Dear  little  one,  so  gloomy  and  unlike  your  old 
self.  This  will  not  do — no,  no.  Here,  Papa  Louis 
wants  you  for  a  walk ;  the  air  is  brisk  and  keen  and 
you  have  bent  over  those  paper  flowers  all  day.  Go 
out  and  get  a  breath." 

"  Yes,  take  her  off,  Papa  Louis.  Go,  both  of  you, 
and  do  not  come  back  for  an  hour.  We  do  not 
want  you  around.  We  need  all  the  space  we  can 
get,  and  you  are  of  such  a  size,  Papa  Louis,  that 
you  are  in  the  way."  And,  laughing,  Mathilde  play 
fully  pushed  the  good  man  out  of  the  door.  "  Bring 
back  Alaine  with  some  color,  else  I  shall  be  ruined 
in  paint  for  her  cheeks  to-night." 

Papa  Louis,  always  good  company,  was  to-day  in 
a  high  state  of  jocularity.  An  entertainment  such 
as  this  was  dear  to  his  heart.  He  and  Mathilde  had 
pored  over  such  books  as  the  little  community  pos 
sessed,  had  drawn  upon  their  memories  and  upon 
their  imaginations  until  they  felt  that  the  tableaux 
would  surpass  anything  of  the  kind  yet  shown  in 
the  village.  It  was  the  kind  of  thing  which  gave 
Papa  Louis  supreme  pleasure.  He  was  in  his  ele 
ment.  He  could  quote  poetry,  he  could  make  refer 
ence  to  classical  characters,  he  could  recall  historical 
personages  with  an  ease  which  awoke  a  new  humil 
ity  in  Michelle,  grown  accustomed  to  ordering  about 


340  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

this  little  man,  whose  knowledge  of  a  husbandman's 
crafts  was  so  small,  and  who  so  often  aroused  her 
mocking  laughter  by  his  mistakes.  He  was  superior. 
Yes,  she  knew  it,  and  he  had  stooped  to  marry  her. 
And  so  Michelle  wore  a  very  meek  look  these  days. 

Gerard  and  Mathilde,  two  children,  frolicked 
through  it  all,  played  jokes  upon  each  other,  laughed 
and  danced  and  quarrelled  and  kissed  between  the 
quarrels,  so  that  it  was  really  quite  a  hubbub  from 
which  Alaine  escaped,  given,  too,  a  half-dozen  other 
young  people  to  join  in  the  chatter,  neighboring 
maidens  and  their  swains  who  were  to  take  part  in 
the  evening's  festivities. 

These  were  all  still  there  when  Alaine  returned 
from  her  walk,  but  they  were  more  subdued.  They 
stopped  their  chatter  as  Alaine  came  in  and  pressed 
one  another's  hands  sympathetically.  They  had  an 
expectant  air  as  Alaine  stepped  into  the  room,  and 
cast  quick  glances  at  the  improvised  curtain,  the  old 
blue  bedspreads  hung  below  the  rafters. 

Mathilde  went  to  Alaine  and  kissed  her,  then  took 
the  cold,  thin  hands  in  hers.  "  You  are  returned 
just  in  time,  my  dear.  We  have  changed  the  tab 
leaux  somewhat,  and  will  now  rehearse  the  first 
one.  Sit  there,  between  Papa  Louis  and  Mere 
Michelle.  We  call  this  The  Return.  It  permits  of 
two  scenes.  We  shall  want  you  for  the  second  one, 
Alaine,  dear  Alaine.  Draw  the  curtain,  Gerard.1' 

The  blue  linen  hangings  parted,  and  Alaine  saw 
before  her,  smiling  a  little,  two  men,  one  whose  gray 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  341 

locks  hung  about  a  face  somewhat  older,  somewhat 
more  careworn,  than  she  remembered  it,  but  still  the 
same  that  was  her  earliest  memory.  He  rested  his 
hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  a  younger  man  upon 
whose  smooth  cheek  burned  the  mark  of  the  red 
feather. 

With  parted  lips  and  one  cry,  in  which  love,  long 
ing,  and  bewilderment  were  united,  Alaine  sprang  to 
her  feet,  made  one  bound,  and  was  clasped  in  her 
father's  arms. 

"  Drop  the  curtain,  Gerard,"  ordered  Mathilde. 
"You  have  beheld  the  second  scene,  my  friends. 
This  tableau  will  not  be  repeated." 

An  hour  later  the  guests  came  trooping  in,  the 
Allaires  and  the  Bonneaus,  the  Theroldes  and  the 
Thauvets.  The  news  had  spread  abroad,  and  Ma- 
thilde's  tableaux  proved  to  be  less  of  an  excitement 
than  this  drama  in  which  the  chief  actors  were 
Alaine  and  Theodore  Hervieu  and  Lendert  Ver- 
planck. 

It  was  late  when  the  last  tableau  was  announced. 
Surely  it  was  a  rose  maiden  who  stood  there  in  her 
gown  of  broidered  pink,  her  short  brown  curls  gar 
landed,  and  the  bloom  on  her  cheeks  and  lips  that 
given  by  the  touch  of  joy.  So  sweet  and  fair  and 
slight  she  stood,  and  at  her  feet  two  little  loves  from 
out  of  the  roses  aimed  their  arrows.  Around  her 
glowed  the  flowers  made  by  Mathilde's  cunning 
hands.  At  sight  of  her  who  had  suffered  much, 
who  was  lost  and  was  found,  who  had  mourned  and 


342  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

had  been  mourned,  who  had  been  in  perils  oft,  the 
whole  company  arose  as  if  by  an  impulse,  and  burst 
out  into  a  psalm  of  praise,  singing  so  lustily  that 
they  might  have  been  heard  far  in  the  quiet  forest : 
"  0  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord ;  for  he  is  good !" 
And  who  in  all  that  company  could  sing  the  words 
with  more  exalted  soul  than  Alaine  ? 

It  was  when  one  after  another  had  tramped  home 
and  the  snatches  of  song  had  died  away  that  Ma- 
thilde,  unable  to  curb  her  curiosity  any  longer, 
asked,  "  And  Pierre  ?" 

"And  Pierre?"  mocked  Gerard,  his  arm  around 
her.  "My  wife,  you  see,  desires  to  know  of  him.1" 

Mathilde  made  a  saucy  face  at  him.  "  We  desire 
to  know  of  Pierre,1'  she  repeated.  "  No  doubt  you 
have  told  his  story  over  a  dozen  times  this  evening, 
but  we  have  not  heard,  and  we  are  not  less  friends 
than  the  rest,  M.  Hervieu." 

"Pierre."  M.  Hervieu  looked  at  Alaine  and 
smiled.  "Pierre  is  quite  comfortable  and  in  good 
hands.  He  is  married." 

"  Married !"  the  comical  expression  of  dismay 
upon  Mathilde's  face  was  a  sight  to  see.  She  turned 
to  Gerard.  "  Then  say  no  more  to  me  of  a  man's 
constancy.1' 

"What  I'wish  to  know,"  said  Michelle,  "is  how 
it  comes  that  you  and  M.  Verplanck  appear  in  com 
pany." 

"  That  is  a  coincidence.  I  returned  upon  the  first 
ship  which  touched  at  Dominica  upon  her  return 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  343 

voyage,  and  this  happened  to  be  the  one  of  which 
M.  Verplanck  is  half  owner.  It  seems  that  he," — he 
placed  a  kind  hand  upon  the  young  man's  arm, — 
"our  friend  here,  had  taken  the  journey  to  Guadaloupa 
some  months  ago,  hoping  to  find  me  there.  lie 
was  misinformed ;  I  was  not  at  Guadaloupa  but  at 
Dominica,  and  there  Pierre  Boutillier  found  me  by 
chance.  M.  Verplanck  had  taken  the  precaution  to 
have  inquiry  made  for  me  at  each  succeeding  voy 
age,  and  when  I  took  passage  upon  the  very  ship  that 
had  come  in  search  of  me,  the  good  skipper,  when 
he  learned  my  name,  was  completely  dumfounded. 
And  when  upon  arriving  in  port,  M.  Verplanck  was 
there  to  receive  his  ship,  he  received  me  also. 
Then,  since  our  destination  was  the  same,  we  came 
together.  I  had  no  idea  that  I  was  so  important  a 
person  that  I  must  be  sought  for  by  twro  strangers, 
but  it  seems  I  am  of  more  value  than  I  knew." 
He  looked  with  loving  eyes  at  Alaine  as  he  said 
this. 

Papa  Louis  laughed  softly.  "It  is  not  always 
ourselves  for  which  we  are  valued,  M.  Hervieu,  but 
for  what  we  possess.  I  am  of  little  account,  but 
Mathilde  has  coddled  me  ever  since  that  day  when 
she  came  to  nurse  my  wife." 

Mathilde  gave  him  a  gentle  tap.  "For  shame, 
Papa  Louis,  you  would  imply  that  I  did  so  because 
of  Gerard." 

"  And  was  not  that  it  ?" 

Mathilde  pouted.     "  He  tells  dreadful  stories,  that 


344  BECAUSE   OF  CONSCIENCE 

Papa  Louis.  Go  on,  M.  Hervieu,  we  would  hear 
more.  No  matter  why  you  were  sought,  you  are 
here  and  we  are  very  glad.  We  wish  next  to  hear 
of  M.  Verplanck's  adventures." 

But  Michelle  declared  that  that  must  wait  till  the 
morning,  else  Alaine  would  have  no  rest  at  all. 
"And  she  is  not  yet  as  strong  as  we  would  have 
her,"  she  said,  solicitously. 

It  seemed  to  Alaine,  in  her  little  bed  up  under  the 
eaves,  that  the  night  was  all  too  short  for  her  long 
thoughts.  Till  morning  she  lay  wide  awake,  with 
such  great  joy  and  gladness  tugging  at  her  heart  that 
once  or  twice  she  sat  up  and  put  out  her  hand  to 
touch  the  wall  of  her  room  that  she  might  be  sure 
this  was  no  dream.  "  Lendert !  Father !"  she 
whispered.  "I  am  happy  !  I  am  happy  !  It  is  so 
wonderful,  dear  God,  to  be  happy  when  I  have  been 
wretched  for  so  long,  so  long." 

At  dawn  she  arose  and  dressed  quietly,  then 
slipped  softly  down-stairs  and  out  into  the  autumn 
morning.  Michelle  and  Gerard  were  already  astir, 
but  she  passed  Michelle  in  her  kitchen  and  Gerard 
in  the  garden  and  went  on  to  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
where  a  golden  finger  of  light  was  already  touching 
the  trees  in  their  crimson.  Before  entering  the  well- 
remembered  path  she  stopped.  There  were  foot 
steps  behind  her.  She  turned  to  see  that  Lendert 
had  followed  her.  He  took  her  hand,  and  together 
they  went  on  into  the  still  forest  and  with  one  con 
sent  knelt  there  together. 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  345 

"The  house  was  too  narrow  for  me,"  said  Alaine, 
when  they  arose  and  faced  each  other.  "  I  was  too 
full  of  thanksgiving  to  give  it  utterance  there.  My 
Lendert!  my  Lendert!  Are  we  dead  and  is  this 
heaven  ?"  She  yielded  her  sweet  body  to  his  em 
brace.  So  thrilled  with  happiness  she  was  that  it 
seemed  that  the  world  must  fade  before  her  blurred 
vision. 

"My  sweet!  my  sweet!11  whispered  Lendert,  "I 
am  a  gift  to  you.1'  And  there  in  his  arms  she  lis 
tened  to  the  story  of  his  rescue  and  received  her 
message. 

Standing  on  tiptoe  she  touched  her  lips  to  the  red 
scar  upon  his  cheek.  "  So  I  receive  him,  Fran- 
9013,"  she  said.  "  Thou  poor  mistaken,  unhappy 
soul,  God  give  thee  peace  in  thine  hour  of  death.  I 
forgive  thee.  So  I  receive  this  gift  dedicated  to  me 
by  thy  great  courage  and  by  thy  supreme  renuncia 
tion." 

The  tangy,  winelike  odor  of  the  leaves  under  their 
feet  filled  the  air.  From  the  little  farmsteads  came 
the  cheerful  sounds  of  stirring  life.  Through  the 
purple  mists  at  the  end  of  the  path  could  be  seen 
glimpses  of  the  blue  sound.  The  hush  of  Indian 
summer,  not  unlike  that  of  an  expectant  spring,  was 
around  and  over  them. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  last  morning  when  we 
went  out  into  the  woods  together?11  Alaine  asked. 

"  Can  we  forget  it?" 

"  Never  has  broken  a  morning  since  that  when  I 


346  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

have  not  felt  the  horror  of  it.  That  was  why  I  came 
out  so  early,  that  I  might  take  my  happiness  with 
the  dawn  and  remember  that  day  no  more.  I  have 
been  so  wretched,  so  weary." 

"And  now?1' 

She  gazed  at  him  with  eyes  full  of  love,  while  into 
his  own  came  the  look  which  long  ago  had  caught 
her  heart.  "Thou  lovest  me?"  he  murmured. 

"  I  love  thee !  I  love  thee !  Ah,  how  I  love 
thee !" 

"  And  so  I  love  thee.  No  one  shall  ever  part  us 
again.1' 

"But  thy  mother?" 

"  She  does  not  know.  I  have  in  some  way  missed 
her,  and  therefore  I  must  leave  thee  for  a  little  that 
I  may  find  her ;  but  we  shall  not  even  then  be  parted, 
for  there  is  now  no  one  to  do  us  harm." 

Hand  in  hand,  yet  in  soberer  mood,  they  went  back 
to  the  house.  Lendert  had  told  his  story  to  Alaine's 
father  and  had  not  been  heard  unkindly.  If  his 
mother's  consent  could  be  obtained  all  would  go 
well,  he  believed. 

"You  will  not  leave  us?"  Michelle  exclaimed  in 
dismay  when  Lendert  announced  his  intention  of 
seeking  his  mother.  Pierre  disposed  of,  Gerard 
married,  Frangois  beyond  return,  she  began  to  think 
it  would  be  well  after  all  if  this  young  man  were 
not  allowed  to  wander  too  far  away.  Besides,  she 
really  liked  him  and  was  bent  upon  securing  Alaine's 
happiness.  "  He  would  make  a  desirable  husband 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  347 

for  Alaine,"  she  confided  to  M.  Hervieu.  "  He  has 
good  prospects,  and  it  is  not  so  far  to  Manhatte, 
where  they  could  live.  It  would  be  well  if  the  girl 
were  settled,  she  has  had  so  many  experiences,  and 
I  think  she  could  not  do  better." 

M.  Hervieu  nodded  and  smiled.  He  understood 
Michelle's  concern  for  the  girl,  who  had  been  as  her 
very  own,  but  he  had  observed  a  habit  of  self- 
restraint  in  these  years  past,  and  was  not  inclined  to 
discuss  the  subject  yet.  For  all  that,  he,  too,  ad 
vised  Lendert  not  to  return  at  once  to  his  mother's 
home.  "  She  has  heard  of  your  having  been  there 
and  of  your  going  on  to  Manhatte.  She  will  in  all 
probability  go  there  at  once  to  overtake  you." 

"  And  so  you  may  keep  it  up,  dodging  each  other 
for  weeks,"  said  Michelle.  "Better  remain  here, 
my  friend." 

Lendert  considered  the  matter.  "  I  will  go  to  the 
town  and  leave  word  with  my  mother's  friends  that 
I  am  here,  and  I  will  furthermore  send  a  message  to 
her  that  I  await  her  pleasure.  If  she  wills  it  so,  I 
will  go  to  her." 

It  was  late  one  afternoon  a  week  after  that  Alaine, 
from  the  porch  where  she  had  been  sitting  with  her 
father,  looked  down  the  street  to  see  three  figures 
approaching.  She  had  been  examining  the  little 
packet  sent  her  by  Felice.  "  I  send  you  a  small 
token  of  my  esteem,"  the  little  lady  wrote.  "  May 
this  silver  dove  take  you  an  olive  branch  of  peace." 
Then  followed  a  few  gracious  words,  and  at  the  end, 


348  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"  I  have  a  curiosity  to  know  if  you  ever  loved  Pierre 
Boutillier.  You  will  understand,  being  a  woman, 
why  I  wish  to  know  this.  If  I  believed  your  heart 
given  to  him  I  should  not  be  happy  in  what  I  have 
done,  but  in  sending  you  your  father  instead  of  a 
lover,  I  feel  sure  I  am  doing  you  no  wrong.  Assure 
me  of  this  and  receive  my  gratitude.11 

Alaine  was  smiling  over  these  words  when  she 
beheld  the  three  advancing  figures.  Surely  that 
stride  was  very  familiar.  She  sprang  to  her  feet. 
"  It  is  Jeanne  !  Jeanne  Crepin  !  and  Petit  Marc,  and, 
oh,  my  father,  it  is  Madam  De  Vries  herself!" 

It  was  Madam  who  arrived  first,  for  she  was 
riding  ahead  of  the  other  two,  who  tramped  along 
with  a  free  swinging  walk.  She  alighted  from  her 
horse  and  went  tremblingly  toward  the  girl,  who 
stood  by  her  father's  side  not  less  agitated.  In  these 
months  Madam  had  aged  greatly.  She  looked  like 
an  old  woman.  "  My  son !  My  son !"  she  cried. 
"  Where  is  he  ?  I  want  my  son  !" 

"  He  is  here.  We  have  sent  for  him.  He  will 
arrive  at  once,1'  M.  Hervieu  returned  courteously. 
"Allow  me  to  lead  you  in,  madam.11 

"Madam !"  Alaine  stood  shyly  by. 

"Alaine!"  The  mother  sank  into  a  chair  and 
began  to  weep  softly.  "  Give  him  back  to  me,  my 
boy.  My  poor  boy  !" 

"He  is  here.  You  shall  see  him  at  once,11  re 
peated  Alaine,  kneeling  by  her.  "Madam,  this  is 
my  father,  who  has  lately  been  restored  to  his 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  349 

daughter.  He  can  understand."  She  saw  Lendert 
coming  and  ran  out  another  way.  For  some  reason 
she  would  rather  not  witness  the  meeting  between 
mother  and  son. 

She  ran  out  the  gate  and  down  the  road  to  meet 
Jeanne  just  beyond  the  fence.  "  Jeanne  !  Jeanne  ! 
it  is  so  good  to  see  you  again.  Oh,  you  good  Jeanne, 
how  can  I  thank  you  and  Petit  Marc  for  your  good 
ness  to  M.  Verplanck?  And  Jeanne,  Jeanne,  it  is 
my  father  who  is  in  there.  There  are  so  many 
wonderful  things  happening.  Come  in,  come 
in." 

Jeanne  shrank  back  a  little.  "  Will  I  do,  Alaine  ? 
Will  I  do  ?  Remember  I  must  meet  Michelle  with 
dignity.  I  am  really  trembling,  Alaine,  old  stupide 
that  I  am.  After  all  these  years,  and  it  is  Theodore 
Hervieu  in  there." 

If  she  were  uncertain  of  her  welcome,  its  hearti 
ness  took  away  all  discomfort.  It  was  M.  Hervieu 
who  grasped  her  hands  and  called  her  his  dear  old 
friend  Jeanne  Bisset.  It  was  Michelle  who,  rather 
awkwardly,  but  in  all  kindliness,  first  hesitated  and 
then  embraced  her.  It  was  Lendert  who  led  her  to 
his  mother,  saying,  "  But  for  these  two,  Jeanne 
Crepin  and  Marc  Lenoir,  I  should  no  longer  be 
living,  madam." 

This  caused  Madam's  tears  again  to  flow,  and  she 
sobbed  forth,  "And  I  drove  her  from  me.  Twice 
has  she  heaped  coals  of  fire  upon  my  head :  first 
by  warning  me  on  that  dreadful  morning,  and  then 


350  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

she  saves  you.  I  am  a  wicked  old  woman,  Jeanne 
Crepin." 

"  We  are  all  wicked,  whether  we  be  old  or  young, 
men  or  women,"  returned  Jeanne,  seriously.  "  I  am 
no  saint  myself,  neither  is  Petit  Marc." 

M.  Hervieu  looked  at  the  big  coureur  de  bois  with 
attention,  then  he  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"  Surely  I  should  know  Marc  Lenoir.  No,  no,  let 
us  say  nothing  of  those  old  days.  We  know  only 
these  new  ones.  We  are  friends  all,  yes?"  Yet 
when  he  looked  around  it  was  Alaine  who  turned 
away  her  head.  Madam  had  not  bestowed  upon 
her  the  greeting  one  gives  a  daughter. 

"I  am  not  a  rich  man,"  M.  Hervieu  went  on, 
"but  I  am  a  very  fortunate  one,  or  I  have  good 
friends,  and  I  have  enough  to  begin  the  world  anew. 
I  already  have  made  my  plans  to  go  to  Manhatte  and 
engage  in  trade  there.  We  shall  be  quite  comfort 
able,  my  daughter  and  I,  and  I  trust  we  shall  be 
content." 

Petit  Marc  had  taken  a  packet  from  his  blouse. 
"  There  is  a  small  matter  here  that  I  wish  to  talk 
about,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  we  older  ones  would 
best  discuss  it  by  ourselves  at  first." 

Mathilde,  who  had  come  in  some  time  before,  now 
led  the  way  out.  Lendert  and  Alaine  followed. 
"They  do  not  want  us  to  hear,"  Mathilde  remarked, 
"  yet  I  am  consumed  with  curiosity." 

Alaine  walked  by  Mathilde's  side.  She  did  not 
look  at  Lendert,  but  kept  her  eyes  cast  down  as  she 


MATHILDE'S  TABLEAUX  351 

walked,  and  the  young  man  looked  troubled.  "  She 
does  not  forgive  me,"  Alaine's  look  said. 

Petit  Marc  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  table ;  the 
others  followed  his  example.  He  slowly  opened  the 
paper  he  held.  "  I  have  here  a  copy  of  the  last  will 
and  testament  of  Francois  Dupont,"  he  began.  "  Be 
fore  the  death  of  the  testator  he  converted  all  his 
estates  in  France  into  English  moneys.  The  amount 
is  deposited  in  Orange  with  trustworthy  persons.  It 
is  not  a  sum  to  be  despised.  This  he  leaves  share 
and  share  alike  to  Lendert  Verplanck  and  Alaine 
Hervieu  should  they  marry.  If,  for  any  reason, 
there  are  objections  raised  to  the  marriage  of  Len 
dert  Verplanck  to  Alaine  Hervieu,  he  foregoes  his 
share,  and  it  is  to  be  given  for  the  sole  use  of 
Alaine  Heirvieu.  Has  any  one  here  a  word  to  say  ?" 
His  eyes  glanced  from  M.  Hervieu  to  Madam  De 
Vries. 

The  latter  nervously  fingered  a  hand-screen  upon 
the  table  before  her.  M.  Hervieu  looked  at  her 
inquiringly.  u  Madam,  I  would  know  your  desires 
in  this  matter.  We  are  among  those  who  are  aware 
of  the  attachment  of  these  two,  and  we  need  not 
seem  blind  to  it." 

"My  son  is  all  I  have  in  the  world,"  began 
Madam. 

"  My  daughter  is  all  I  have,"  returned  M.  Hervieu. 
"  I  am  not  anxious  that  she  should  marry.  I  can 
maintain  her  in  comfort,  and  she  goes  into  no  family 
not  proud  to  receive  her." 


352  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

"She'll  have  no  lack  of  suitors  either,"  put  in 
Jeanne's  gruff  voice. 

"  With  such  a  purse,"  added  Michelle  complacently. 

"Without  it,"  came  from  Papa  Louis.  "Alaine 
Hervieu  has  never  had  to  lack  for  lovers.  She  has 
birth  and  beauty,  and  there  are  still  those  in  Franco 
who  would  think  themselves  rich  in  gaining  her  if 
she  were  penniless." 

"  And,"  said  Jeanne,  watching  Madam  narrowly, 
"it  is  she  who  will  be  the  gainer  if  the  marriage 
does  not  take  place.  After  all  is  said,  would  it  not 
be  better  that  it  should  not  ?  I  have  stood  in  place 
of  mother  to  her,  and  that  is  my  opinion." 

"  And  I  the  same,"  Michelle  agreed,  interpreting 
rightly  the  sly  glance  from  Jeanne's  eye,  and  giving 
her  husband  a  nudge. 

Papa  Louis  looked  thoughtful.  "She  might  do 
better,"  he  said,  reflectively ;  and  then,  as  if  recover 
ing  himself,  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  Madam  De  Vries, 
but  I  speak  as  a  father,  and,  all  things  considered, 
you  will  admit  that  she  might  do  better." 

"You  are  all  against  me,"  passionately  Madam 
broke  forth,  roused  to  anger  by  this  seeming  de 
fiance  of  her  opinion  and  this  setting  aside  of  her 
son's  interests.  "  Have  I  nothing  to  say  ?  Do  you 
all  dare  to  dismiss  the  matter  without  a  word  from 
me  ?"  She  arose  and  swept  to  the  door.  "  Alaine," 
she  called.  "Alaine,  come,  my  daughter,  it  is  your 
Lendert's  mother  who  calls  you.  Come,  my  daugh 
ter."  And  Alaine,  from  where  she  was  dejectedly 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  353 

pacing  the  walk,  ran  to  her  and  was  clasped  in 
Madam's  arms. 

"  Sh  !  sh !"  said  Jeanne,  as  all  the  rest  began  to 
laugh,  though  her  own  face  was  broad  with  smiles. 
"  We  must  not  let  her  suspect  that  we  have  done  it. 
It  was  the  only  way  to  manage  her." 

There  were  several  other  bequests  in  Frangois's 
will.  A  ring  and  all  personal  effects  to  Adriaen, 
except  a  sword  and  a  brace  of  pistols  to  Petit  Marc. 
To  Michelle  was  left  a  tidy  sum  :  "In  affectionate 
acknowledgment  of  past  kindnesses." 

A  silence  fell  upon  them  all  as  the  last  words  of 
the  will  were  read.  Even  now  the  man's  strong 
individuality  touched  them  all  with  a  nearness  not 
possible  in  their  thought  of  another  less  forceful 
though  more  worthy  of  being  loved. 

"You  will  stay  with  us,  Jeanne,"  Alaine  begged, 
when  they  were  alone  in  the  garden,  for  Alaine  must 
show  this  old  friend  all  her  haunts.  u  You  will  not 
return  to  that  rough  life." 

Jeanne  hitched  her  shoulders  and  gave  a  twitch 
to  her  petticoats.  "  I  couldn't  stand  them  much 
longer.  We  must  go  back.  We  could  not  endure 
any  other  life  now." 

"  But  why  we  ?  You  do  not  need  to  follow  Petit 
Marc.  Come  and  live  with  us  in  our  home  in  Man- 
hatte." 

Jeanne  screwed  up  her  eyes  in  the  way  that  she 
had  when  embarrassed  or  amused.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you?"  she  said.  "We  are  married." 

23 


354  BECAUSE   OF   CONSCIENCE 

And  then  Alaine  hugged  her  and  kissed  her  till 
she  cried,  and  called  herself  an  old  stupide,  a  chat- 
huant,  an  insensee,  a  dindon,  and  various  other 
names  with  which  Alaine  had  been  familiar  of  old. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,"  she  told  Alaine,  "  but  one 
must  have  something  to  do,  and  Petit  Marc,  he  will 
soon  be  growing  old,  and  who  will  take  care  of  him 
then?11 

"Who  indeed?11  Alaine  held  the  good  weather- 
beaten  face  between  her  palms.  "  I  shall  often, 
often  think  of  you  up  there,  you  two  who  have  done 
so  much  for  me,  to  whom  I  owe  so  much,  and  it 
will  make  me  very  glad  to  know  you  are  together. 
But  you  must  remain  to  see  me  married.  Trynje 
and  her  husband  and  Mynheer  van  der  Deen  and 
Madam,  his  goede  vrouw,  and  I  cannot  miss  you 
from  among  those  who  love  me  and  who  will  come 
to  see  me  take  my  Lendert  for  my  husband.11 

After  more  persuasion  Jeanne  promised,  and  with 
Petit  Marc  attended  the  ceremony,  a  month  later, 
the  two  being  the  most  conspicuous  couple  present, 
if  one  may  except  the  bride  and  groom.  And,  even 
in  that  day  when  romantic  stories  were  common 
and  thrilling  adventure  no  novelty,  the  tale  of  the  love 
of  Lendert  and  Alaine  brought  to  the  French  church 
in  Marketfield  Street  such  a  crowd  on  that  Sunday 
that  the  "cars11  and  the  people  fairly  jostled  each 
other  for  blocks  around. 

It  was  a  few  days  after  her  marriage  that  Alaine 
answered  the  letter  of  Felice,  and  among  other 


MATHILDE'S   TABLEAUX  355 

things  she  wrote :  "  If  it  be  any  comfort  to  you, 
madame,  take  my  assurance  that  with  my  whole 
heart  I  love  and  have  ever  loved  the  man  who  is 
now  my  very  dear  husband.  He  is  Lendert  Ver- 
planck,  whom  your  husband  will  remember,  and 
though  fate  has  played  us  many  sad  tricks,  we  are 
now  supremely  happy.  At  one  time  it  seemed  that 
we  should  never  marry,  yet  even  then,  believe  me, 
I  could  never  have  become  the  wife  of  any  one  else. 
We  shall  live  in  Manhatte,  where  my  father  and  my 
husband  have  entered  into  business,  and  my  husband 
has  promised  that  upon  one  of  his  voyages  to  the 
islands  he  will  take  me  with  him  that  I  may  thank 
you  in  person  for  your  great  kindness  to  my  father. 
I  congratulate  you,  madame,  upon  possessing  so  good 
a  husband,  and  I  congratulate,  with  all  my  heart,  my 
old  friend  Pierre  Boutillier,  who  has  been  so  fortu 
nate  as  to  win  you  for  his  wife.1' 

When  Felice  showed  this  to  Pierre  she  did  so  with 
dancing  eyes  and  dimpling  mouth.  uWhat  did  I 
tell  you?"  she  said.  "Are  you  fortunate,  my 
melancholy  love  ?" 

And  Pierre,  for  answer,  smiled,  and  kissed  her. 


THE    END. 


Date  Due 


PRINTED   IN   U.S.A.  CAT.     NO.     24      161 


000  543 


500 


